


Drowse

by GroovynSpoiled (FeederMercury)



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anger Management, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asthmatic Roger Taylor, Bisexual Brian May, Blood and Injury, Borderline Personality Disorder, Bottom Roger Taylor (Queen), Brian May Whump, Caretaking, Denial of Feelings, Depressed Brian May, Depressed Roger Taylor, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Violence, Drug Addiction, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gay Roger Taylor, Gay Sex, Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Injury Recovery, Insecure Roger Taylor (Queen), Lovers to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Mental Instability, Mild Gore, Minor Character Tim Staffell, Near Death Experiences, Night Terrors, Non-Graphic Violence, Original Character(s), Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Roger Taylor Whump, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Sick Brian May, Sick Roger Taylor (Queen), Slow Burn, Sub Roger Taylor (Queen), Suicide Attempt, Top Brian May, Whump, Whumpee Roger Taylor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2020-02-04 19:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 139,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18610945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeederMercury/pseuds/GroovynSpoiled
Summary: "The heart monitors practically trumpeted in his ears as he descended into the room, Roger was sleeping with his head lazily slack to the side but he didn't look peaceful. The sight of the man who used to be so close to him was shocking, and nearly brought tears to his eyes. Roger was thin and pale, dark circles consuming his eyes cruelly. His body was covered in deep purple and green bruises along with fresh blood-soaked bandages cloaking his arms and torso. The young man had discarded his gown earlier in the visit, which exposed his damaged body further."It's been nearly five years since Brian and Roger have seen each other but when Roger jumps from a bridge, Brian rushes to his side to be his support. When Roger moves in with Brian and his roommates Freddie and John, Brian realizes it's not nearly as easy as he thought to take care of someone who needs it most.Or, Brian and Roger learn to love each other again and Roger learns how to live





	1. Drowse: Cover Art (Introduction)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a doctor so just like ignore if i do something wrong in this fic lmao
> 
> ive been writing this fic for about a month and planning it for even longer so i really hope yall like this first chapter. i wont be uploading chapter 2 till im sure its good, and past then ill be uploading whenever. its almost complete and im really exited so it should be on a regular upload schedule but i cant promise anything  
> just check daily if youre interested in this story cause i might have uploaded chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by Consulting-Mage on Tumblr / Dank_Mage on Instagram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your hard work, Nic. It came out beautifully and captures my story gorgeously.

                           

Beautiful Cover art for Drowse by GroovynSpoiled (Feedermercury) by Consulting-mage (Tumblr)/ Dank_Mage (Instagram)


	2. Where Is My Mind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian receives a call that will change his life forever.
> 
> Or, Roger isn't having a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song Where Is My Mind by The Pixies! I suggest listening to the Maxence piano version thats on spotify (or apple music i bet) while you read this :)

When Brian received the call he was at work.

The restaurant was lively and energetic, a bustling crowd walking past with noisy discussion within the night. Suds were up to his elbows and sweat had started to bead on his brow, his uniform was near dripping wet while he was waiting to go home. Brian was in the midst of a group of servers and apprehensive cooks who were striving to prepare more food than they could manage. The upper hand of anxiety from each individual was winning them over and it showed on their faces how much pressure they were under.

As he scrubbed away at the dishes resting in the ample sink, his phone began to buzz in his pocket. He hadn't realized it at first, but soon he understood the vibration he was sensing was from his back pocket. Wiping his hands on a dishcloth, he quickly pulled his phone out and gazed at the caller ID. His fingers were still slightly wet and made the edges of the screen foggy.

It was odd - he'd never seen the number before - and the ID was from a hospital. The hospital in question was one he'd never heard of as well, and he quickly escorted himself out of the building to take the call with a worried expression. Perhaps his mum or dad was injured, maybe Freddie or John partied too hard and found themselves in trouble. It wasn't out of the ordinary for his friends to get too drunk or too high and find themselves in a bout of trouble only to call the one person they knew would come to their rescue. The anxious thoughts ran across his mind as he marched outside into the frosty winter atmosphere that made his cheeks rosy and his body tremble. He'd need a bigger coat before the air became too chilly for his own less than a satisfactory raincoat.

"Hello?" Brian answered while placing a hand over his other ear as to block out the noises from the restaurant behind him.

" _Good evening,_ _Mr.May, I'm from the River View Treatment Center. Roger Taylor has been admitted to the psychiatric wing."_

Roger Taylor? Brian was perplexed, why would  _he_ \- of all people - be called when Roger was in care? He hadn't seen his former lover in years and heard even less of him since their last time seeing each other. The voice on the other end was tired but perked up in a way not to panic him.

"I don't understand, why did you call me?" Brian asked in confusion as he zipped his jacket to his chin.

" _Mr.May, you're Mr.Taylor's emergency contact."_

Once again, confusion. 

"Oh...Right." He feigned knowledge, curious to see what he'd gotten himself into. "What happened?"

" _Mr.Taylor jumped from a bridge last night, and he's in critical condition. We believe he was attempting to take his own life."_

Brian's breathing hitched in his throat as he paused to process what he'd just heard. Unconsciously, he reached into his pocket for his car keys which he pulled out quickly as he began walking to his car as quickly as he could without letting on to the strangers passing him by that he was in a rush. Panic rose in his throat and he felt it began to close.

"He- He tried to jump from a bridge?" Brian asked in denial as he unlocked his car.

" _Yes sir, he jumped from the bridge last night at approximately three A.M."_

Brian, without thinking, quickly hung up the phone at the confirmation he'd just been given. He and Roger hadn't settled on great terms, and they hadn't seen each other in quite a long time. He had no idea he was even his ex-lover's emergency contact to begin with. 

Driving to the treatment center was a complete blur, the four hours it took to drive there felt like years as he attempted to stay within the legal speed limit. His hands shook violently the entire time and his body was on autopilot, his thoughts consumed in worry and fear of losing the now stranger he used to love without being able to tell him so many things he never did. It was almost like a fever dream and he was almost worried when he arrived, he would be met with awkward stares as it _was_ a dream of his. Maybe he was the crazy one.

The building was run down and bleak. It had the atmosphere of loneliness and illness, as most hospitals do, and put a bad taste in your mouth. Years ago you could tell the center was lively and clean but times of patients and doctors roaming the halls had tolled the old bones of the structure which caused it to reflect the emotions of the souls who entered through the double doors.

The psychiatric unit was - surprisingly - the cleanest wing of the clinic and as soon as he entered, a youthful woman with her hair stretched into a painful looking bun greeted him.

"How can I help you, sir?" She asked cheerfully as she set down a pen next to a large stack of papers that weighed the table down.

"I'm here to see Roger...Taylor." Brian hesitated, a bit timid of his surroundings and the shuffling patients and doctors near him that seemed to know exactly who he was.

The nurse seemed to know exactly who he was speaking of and told him to be gentle when coming in, and the room number. It wasn't a dream after all and he wasn't sure if he should feel happy or sad about that. His hands were shakey and he was clearly nervous as he made his way down the hallway, eventually standing in the doorway of the room where his friend from so long ago was laying in the bed. Brian could see the rise in the blankets where his feet and legs were, but not his torso quite yet. From inside the opening of the door, he heard labored, near crackling breaths and as he watched he saw Roger shiver as he coughed forcefully in his state of uncomfortable rest.

The heart monitors practically trumpeted in his ears as he descended into the room, Roger was sleeping with his head lazily slack to the side but he didn't look peaceful. The sight of the man who used to be so close to him was shocking, and nearly brought tears to his eyes. Roger was thin and pale, dark circles consuming his eyes cruelly. His body was covered in deep purple and green bruises along with fresh blood-soaked bandages cloaking his arms and torso. The young man had discarded his gown earlier in the visit, which exposed his damaged body further.

What wasn't clear at first glance was the fact that he was cuffed to the bed by his wrists and ankles which seemed to burrow into his weak limbs harshly and each movement limited him painfully. The restraints were as tight as they could be for how frail his limbs were, and it seemed as if they were near cutting into his flesh despite being wrapped in cloth underneath the leather that resembled that of a belt buckle.

Brian hesitantly sat in a chair next to Roger's bed and observed him as he breathed, his breaths were ragged and seemed to gnaw in his lungs which couldn't have been anything but torture. A nurse soon entered the room, staying silent as she tinkered with his IV drip. She glanced at Brian and gave a small smile before returning to her task, her tongue sticking out a bit in concentration as she worked. She looked just as tired as the voice over the phone sounded and he knew the hours she must be working were hard and long.

"Uh, when do you think he'll be up?" Brian whispered before leaning forward in his seat, placing his elbows to his knees. The nurse turned to him and looked over the sleeping man with a questioning gaze as she thought the question over.

"Soon, he's been asleep for..." She gazed at her watch. "Well, all day. He woke around four, but he wasn't exactly in a good mood." The nurse gestured down at the cuffs around his wrists and ankles.

"Oh, okay thank you." 

When the nurse had adjusted his morphine drip and arranged a few things around the room, she quickly exited as she'd entered. Brian wandered around the room for a bit of time while occasionally looking over at his friend. He remembers years ago when Roger was full of excitement and joy for life. He was always smiling or talking until his voice gave out, perpetually eager to chat about whatever he'd seen even if it wasn't remarkably interesting. He loved waking up next to Brian and more often than not, Brian was being woken up by his lips over his forehead and his warm grin.

Seeing him now, in this state, was disturbing. Even without words, his body was a husk of who it used to hold. 

He had been caught up in his thoughts when he became aware that Roger's heart monitor had sped up significantly and he was perched up in bed, staring at him in confusion and what was most likely fear. It was hard to tell as he was quite sedated and drowsy. When Brian finally noticed, he met his friend's gaze and gave a small smile, running his hands over the end of the bed.

"Hey, Rog. I haven't seen you in a while." Brian carefully talked, quietly and slowly just as the doctor asked him to.

Roger seemed to be processing everything as he put his hands across his head, scratching through his scalp roughly with a disoriented whimper. His hair was down to his shoulders and a dark blonde but it was dry and flaking out long, thin strands as he touched it from lack of care and absence of hygiene. He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed deeply to stop himself from whining while running through the events of the last two days in his mind. It was all very overwhelming.

"How did you know I was here?" Roger asked hoarsely with a slight slur, the simple use of his voice straining his vocal cords.

"I'm your emergency contact."

He looked up at Brian, but there was nothing behind his gaze. No thrill to see him, no satisfaction to talk, no nothing. The loving and motivated look he used to get every morning was gone - reasonably - behind years of isolation. Roger sat up as delicately as he could, his shackles binding him from going too far up the bed. He winced in pain as he moved which only caused Brian's heart to ache in sympathy.

"Roger, don't hurt yourself. You need to relax." Brian told him carefully upon seeing how strenuous simply sitting up was on his body.

Clearly not amused by the suggestion, the young man on the bed shot his gaze up to him with a look of aggravation and poorly-concealed agony. His heart monitor was beginning to pick up once again and the noise was driving a hole through his head.

"I tried to jump off a bridge the other night, Brian." He cursed, the words rolling off his tongue as if the action was normal. His voice remained chalky in his throat, forcing it into a whisper. "And then you know what happened? I fucking  _missed_." Roger took a deep and shaking breath and looked away from his former companion before continuing. "Do you know how hard it is to  _miss_  a massive body of water?I couldn't even jump off a bridge."

Brian wasn't sure how to reply so he simply sat down and placed his hand out to which Roger stared at timidly before opting to ignore the gesture. Roger ran his hands over his bruised body and bandaged chest, now feeling how sensitive his skin was and had become as each swipe of his hand only caused more pain. He attempted to raise his hands up to brush a tangled knot of long blonde hair out of his face as it had begun to sink further down, but the padded cuff stopped him halfway which only frustrated him more.

"Do you want some help?" Brian gestured at the entangled blonde hair obstructing his view. Roger looked over and pulled his head higher which allowed him to reach his hand out to brush away the hair. He tucked it behind his friend's ear and ran his hand over his bruised jawline gently, taking him in. Roger pulled away from the touch and seemed to be turning red but not in affection or passion, it was frustration from the entire situation. He wanted to be left alone and having Brian here was a living nightmare.

"Why are you here?" Roger suddenly asked coldly as he kept his gaze on the restraints.

"Well," Brian furrowed his brow. "I was worried about you. It's not every day you get a call that one of your friends tried to..." He trailed off quietly, waving his hand to dismiss the notion.

Roger smirked a bit with a sharp exhale. "Right...When one of your," He paused to look back to Brian before putting his hands in quotations. "' _Friends'_ tries to off themselves, huh?" 

"Hey, you are my friend, Rog." 

"I am? That's funny because I haven't seen you in..." Roger countered while he looked up in feigned counting. "Five or so years."

Brian scoffed as he turned his head away. He was attempting not to be frustrated with him as he was hurting and only taking it out on the nearest person, but he was only trying to help.

"What happened to you? Why would you do this?" 

Roger said nothing in reply but rather settled his gaze on his sheets. His breathing picked up and he began to tear up a bit, his hands closing into fists. Before Brian could say anything he laid down back into the pillows and looked over at the man in the chair with an irritated appearance with tears threatening to stream down his cheeks.

"I want you to leave. I don't want you to come back, I don't even know why you came." Roger's breathing had become noticeably accelerated and labored, and when Brian attempted to reach out to assist in calming him down, he jerked his hand back with a heavy metal racket of his restraints that only pushed the leather deeper into his wrists. Vicious red marks had begun to form underneath and it was awfully painful to even see, much less feel.

"Okay, okay," Brian placed his hands up. "I'm sorry. I'll go."

They didn't say anything more as Brian didn't want to agitate him further and as he exited the room he heard the young man in the hospital bed whimper loudly and miserably which made him choke up himself as he walked down the hospital's corridors. He attempted to ignore the sound of nurses speaking to Roger in an effort to soothe him after hearing the outcry but only received more sobs as an answer to their questions and failed attempts of helping the patient. He was far too upset and out of it for a console.

* * *

 

Brian stayed at a hotel that night and the memories of their time together rushed back to him in clusters. The first time they had sex and Roger fell off the bed because he got too excited, the first kiss they shared and it felt more than perfect, and the first time they went on a date and Brian inadvertently brought molded bread so they ate cheese with wine.

It felt like yesterday he was waking up next to his partner and running his hands through his - then - short blonde hair. His cheeks were always rosy in the mornings, and his voice much deeper than its normal tone which Brian found to be charming but Roger hated. Brian would cook them breakfast while his lover told him about the dream he'd had the night before, seemingly speaking at a million miles an hour. If he hadn't had a dream, he'd discuss what he'd want to dream about which were always entertaining to hear as Roger owned a fantastic imagination. 

Brian was less of a talker and more of a listener which was discovered on their first date; the moldy bread incident. They had decided to meet at a park instead of riding in Roger's car together, and Brian showed up on a bicycle with a basket tied to the back of the seat which meant by the time he arrived - wearing dress slacks and a button-down shirt - he was sweating and out of breath which couldn't have been attractive. Roger was already there and quietly sitting on a blanket with his legs crossed, patiently awaiting his boyfriend. 

Once he spotted Brian, he burst into a loving smile and jumped up to help him with his bike and picnic basket, grabbing up his bike right from him without receiving permission.

"You look...Warm," Roger giggled as he looked his partner up and down. "Good ride? I could have just picked you up."

"Very observant, Captain Roger, I'm quite warm! Didn't want you to waste gas, it's a perfectly good bike!" Brian laughed along with Roger and bumped his shoulder lightly.

The perfectly good bike had belonged to him for years, he'd received it from a garage sale that came from another garage sale. The chain was rusting and would soon give out along with the brakes that were long worn down to the point of snapping. It wasn't exactly safe, but it was his and he enjoyed riding it, even if he couldn't brake and risked flying off each time he rode it.

They sat down on their blanket and unpacked their lunch, Roger hadn't stopped talking about how he was excited for his date since they sat down but as soon as Brian's expression dropped at the sight of moldy bread, he paused his rant in concern as well.

"What's wrong, babe?" Roger worried, putting his hand out on his thigh.

"The bread's gone moldy!" 

Roger looked and it had indeed gone moldy. Instead of being upset such as Brian, he laughed and took the bag to examine it further. Every slice was covered in a thick layer of green and grey mold, and the more he saw, the more he giggled which Brian wasn't getting at all. He should be just as upset, he just ruined the picnic they'd planned for nearly two weeks!

"What's so funny?" Brian asked, furrowing his brow which only made Roger laugh harder.

"You brought moldy bread and you're all cross?" Roger grabbed a block of cheese they'd brought for the bread and unwrapped it then took a bite out of the block while Brian watched with wide eyes. "I like cheese just as well, who needs bread?"

"You're mad, Rog. Absolutely mad."

They took turns eating the cheese block, using the knife to cut off chunks and pouring wine glass after wine glass to help wash it down. Though Brian thought he'd ruined the evening by bringing more than rotten bread, Roger made the situation better by improvising in his usual cheerful manner just as he always did. That was something Roger was good at; fixing a no good situation with his care-free attitude and loveliness.

They slept in Roger's car that night as they were both a bit drunk, especially the blonde who was hiccuping and donning crimson red cheeks while slurring his words generously. Being intoxicated only brought out his bubbly personality more and he found everything to be amusing. Since Brian was also reasonably drunk from drinking just as much wine as his boyfriend, he came out of his shell and matched his lover's excitement and for the rest of the night, they sat together giggling about everything coming across their minds.

How did he go from bubbly and giggling to sitting in a bed covered in scars, recovering from jumping off of a bridge? At what moment did the cheerful light behind his eyes fade and become replaced by the hollow emptiness? From what point did his life get so low that he felt the only way he would feel like he would ever be okay again was to take his own life?

It dizzied Brian to even believe this was happening, but there is a hospital a few meters from his hotel room where Roger Taylor, his ex-boyfriend, is recovering from jumping from a bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna HMU follow me on twitter @GroovynSpoiled but you have to request first cause im on private for personal reasons


	3. Heartbreak and Other Emotional Travesties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian returns to the hospital, and Roger opens up a bit to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //WARNING//  
> This chapter includes graphic depictions of violence and a very detailed scene of a suicide attempt. Eating disorders are mentioned only for a sentence, and blood is described quite graphically. If you do not wish to read this, please do not read the part in between the bars. This chapter is really dark, and I think you should read the tags to see if this is still for you. Don't worry, Bri and Rog have their happy moment at the end of this one. Thank you <3
> 
> Title: Heartbreak and Other Emotional Travesties by The Fruitcake Capital of The World (worlds most underrated band)  
> https://open.spotify.com/track/2AK17aM4EvnMq8xpCEi2Vb?si=gVEaK4rsScKt7AqPPz4g0w

When Brian woke up that morning he hoped that the night before was only a dream. 

However, the dusty atmosphere with the stained curtains waving back and forth as the air conditioner kicked in was more than enough proof this was his doomed reality. He dressed and headed out for the day, stopping at a diner to get Roger a chocolate chip biscuit, one of his favorites. He'd most likely not eaten anything delicious in the past week, so a cookie would most likely brighten him up, even if just for a moment.

After he'd gotten him his treat, he went to the market to pick up a few things for his friend as well. The store was mostly empty besides him as it was still fairly early into the day, and the environment was warm and inviting. Brian crossed the isles of hair care until he landed on a selection of detanglers that promised to soften and renew damaged, tangled hair. Along with detangling spray, he picked out dry shampoo, a carry size deodorant, and a hairbrush as he was well aware you don't exactly prepare a hygiene kit when you believe you're never going to worry about taking a shower or brushing your hair again.

Roger was very specific with his hair and was always particular with what products went into it. He liked to keep it short, clean and made sure it was always healthy. In their shower were lines of expensive shampoos and conditioners only for Roger to use, as he was very precise with how he liked it and what order they went in. More often than not Brian was scolding him for using far too much of both products for how short his hair was, even if the results spoke for themselves. Seeing the long, dry strands of hair fall out in clumps without Roger seeming to care or even be bothered even a bit was more than upsetting.

When he was exiting the store, he saw an odd Japanese drink Roger used to love when they were together. He never understood the pleasure he got from slamming a marble into a glass container with a plastic applicator just to get three sips of a soda, but to him, it was the best thing he'd ever seen and bought at least four every time he saw them - which was rare.

Once, Roger had gotten one and decided that slamming the marble wasn't enough, that he wanted the marble itself. He'd gotten a hammer, positioned it over the glass, and just as he was reeling back to strike, Brian walked in and grabbed his arm to stop him from injuring himself.

_"What were you gonna do with that bloody thing? You're gonna get glass everywhere!" Brian shouted, removing the hammer from his boyfriend's hands. Roger turned around with a small smile, taking the bottle and shaking it and watching the marble rumble against the glass._

_"I wanted the marble, and I got two so we could both have one." He explained with enthusiasm while his wrist was still gripped by his partner's hand._

_Brian groaned and took him outside in the street, aware that his determined mind wouldn't let go of the idea of getting those marbles. They both wore safety glasses, which Roger had not done before his boyfriend's arrival, and played out an artificial funeral for the glass they were about to shatter._

_"It was a great product, and it held our drinks well. Go forth, and serve us again by giving us some really fuckin' nice marbles to throw around!" Roger bounced with excitement as Brian raised the hammer before throwing it down at the first bottle. The bottles cracked under the pressure and Brian grimaced with the sound that accompanied it._

_It shattered satisfyingly, and the blond whooped in celebration as Brian followed it up by smashing the second. Both marbles were metal, as Brian predicted, and they picked them up out of the glass to admire them. The toys were just as fun as Roger expected, but in reality, he could probably make a piece of paper into a good time if he tried hard enough and applied himself. That was another thing Brian loved about Roger; the way he could turn anything into something to entertain himself. He owned a phone but preferred to make things to keep his mind off of the stresses of life._

Brian, out of his thoughts, bought two of the Japanese drinks in Roger's favorite flavor: Melon. The marble in his pocket from the time they smashed the bottles was now burning a hole in his pocket and he tinkered with it while he checked out.

Once he returned to the hospital with a bag of hygiene products and treats for his friend, he checked in and headed up to his room. Roger was still resting and had been alerted by the nurses he had been given a hefty dosage of morphine to help him sleep after a particularly rough panic attack he'd suffered in the middle of the night, therefore it was unlikely he'd be waking up soon. The good news was he was no longer restrained by the arms but the ankle cuffs remained on as so that he wouldn't wander off and harm himself.

The gifts he'd brought were perhaps less about making him comfortable, and more selfishly about Roger forgiving him for returning to the clinic after he'd made it clear he didn't want him returning. Brian hoped it would make up for it.

The red marks under the wrist restraints had only grown darker and now were showing signs of bruising shown by the faint purple color on his skin. Brian bit his tongue on asking the doctors to loosen the ones attached to his ankles as he was sure they would suffer the same fate, but he didn't want to cause a scene and wake Roger from his rest only to upset him at his outburst of concern, even if it was done with the right intentions.

Brian set up his things for Roger on the bedside table, the drinks and cookie set out closest to the bed while the detangling spray, hairbrush, dry shampoo, and deodorant remained closest to the wall. The room they resided in held a bathroom but he didn't want to risk the loud squeaking it may produce such as the door to the room itself had made earlier.

He didn't stir until the evening when Brian had wandered off to the vending machine to get himself a snack. The hospital food was most likely not vegetarian, and god knows what was in it. Therefore, his meals were mostly made up of vending machine junk food for the time being. When he returned, however, Roger was gazing at the treats and hair care products next to him in a dazed, disoriented state. The cookie was in his hands and he was gently raising it to his mouth for another bite. The treat seemed to already been nibbled on. 

"Hey, you're awake." Brian pointed out as he sat in the chair. Roger picked at the cookie left for him, which had to have been stale, absently while carefully chewing each bite. Crumbs dribbled from his lips as he chewed with his mouth open carelessly. "I got you a few things, just some stuff to help you feel a little cleaner and that weird marble drink you love."

It was evident by the way his pupils were expanded and his eyelids were struggling to keep open that he was still quite a bit loopy on pain killers, but this was the first time he saw Roger not looking upset or angry in any way which was nice. Brian pushed the drinks towards the blonde and he eyed them carefully as a response. The silence was lovely when Roger wasn't bitter or unhappy.

After a moment, he put the cookie back where it was and relaxed with a heavy sigh, sitting up and running his hands over his thighs. He wasn't looking at anything particular, but he seemed to be interested in the feeling of the blankets. They looked scratchy and uncomfortable so Brian made a mental note to pick him up a softer blanket from the store so he would be more content in his stay. He must have been getting antsy and uncomfortable being bedridden besides trips to the bathroom for the toilet, and Brian wasn't sure if Roger had showered yet during his stay.

"I got you some detangler and a brush too, Rog." Brian inserted, getting his attention. 

"Okay," He replied, looking bored and exhausted. "An what d'you want me to do 'bout that?" His words were slurring together again from the sedation he was under but this time it took his effort to get the words out and make them coherent enough to be understood as he was practically speaking concentrated gibberish. By the looks (and sounds) of it, his morphine drip had been re-done and was filled as far as the doctors could push into his body. His heart monitor was slow and steady unlike the night prior where it was almost dangerously fast.

Even when he's on cloud nine filled with dope, he was still snarky. He would have laughed if Roger didn't look so worn out and miserable. Brian grabbed the spray and the brush and pushed his chair forward while Roger simply watched. "Do you want me to help you out?"

He nodded and turned his torso as much as he could without his ankle restraints stopping him and leaned back a bit to give his friend a better angle of his head. Brian untied his gown as to not wet it, and nearly gasped at the damage to his porcine skin. It was covered in purple and blue bruises, more than his front, and a large bandage covered something on his side that he couldn't make out. The ridges of his spine showed under his skin which was only another reminder of how feeble he was. 

Brian carried on, attempting not to pay attention to the painful-looking injuries covering his body, and sprayed detangler throughout his knotted blonde hair. Once it was adequately soaked he ran the brush through as gently as he could. The thin hair came out in large clumps, filling the brushes bristles at a concerningly quick speed. Every few strokes he would have to remove the clumps and throw them in the bin next to them and he hoped Roger wasn't seeing him do this as he had enough to worry about. The last thing he wanted him to see was his hair falling out. Roger was silent through the process, but he knew it had to hurt every few strokes when he'd catch a particularly difficult twist and had to force the brush through. 

His hair was no longer as tangled and looked quite nice, in fact. There were small spots scattered around his head where the hair was missing and under the bright, harsh lights you could see his scalp from under the bits where it had been brushed over, but the hair would grow back and therefore he decided not to alarm him by telling him about something he most likely knew about already. Brian helped Roger lay back down in bed after re-tieing his gown to his neck as he was slowly falling back asleep from the kind and gentle touches of affection, and once he was down, he immediately drifted off once again. A generous amount of drool pooled from his mouth and he quietly snored which filled the noiseless sterile room.

Brian hadn't noticed until he ran his hand over his face that he'd been crying. The entire situation was overwhelming for Brian, but not as much as it had to be for Roger. He'd changed so much in so little time, and he didn't even know half of it. It was hard to believe the same bright-eyed person who laughed too much when he got drunk and almost blinded himself just because he wanted a marble was the same one sleeping in front of him. 

The next time he woke up, it was only two hours after he'd gone to sleep. A nurse came in with a cart full of materials and a laptop on top and carefully woke him while Brian watched thoughtfully, seeing Roger shuffle and look up at the young nurse in front of him with a sleepy gaze. Brian almost asked him not to wake the sleeping man in the bed just on the principle that he needed his rest and the fact he looked so damn peaceful. He once again bit his tongue.

"Morning, Mr.Taylor." The nurse greeted as she prepared a kit of swabs and bandages. "I'm just here to change your bandages, yeah?"

Roger sat up, glancing over at Brian to acknowledge his presence but had no indication of any emotion behind his gaze. It was unclear whether his sleepy state was from just waking up or a mixture of the drugs he was given, but by the way he looked at Brian, it was seeming that the morphine he was given was slowly wearing off. The nurse put a gentle yet cold hand on his back and pulled him forward to where she had a good angle and began to slowly remove the bandage covering his side. The wound was red and weeping, the stitches securing the injury were thick and unpleasant looking. Brian would be lying if he said it wasn't a bit nauseating to look at.

"Looking good." The nurse approved, running a swab over the sides to clean up the edges of the site. Brian disagreed with this statement, but he wasn't a doctor and he certainly wasn't about to leave the room as to not look at his friend's injury. Roger hadn't made a single noise until the woman changing his bandages had begun to run the alcohol swab over his wound, causing him to lurch forward with a pained whimper. The pain almost made him sick and his gut churned with every swipe. He longed for the morphine drip to kick in again and send him over the moon.

Brian got up out of his chair in reflex, reaching out for his friend who was clasping the bed's edges with a white-knuckle grip. The nurse comforted them both by reminding them it was almost over, and soon a fresh bandage was covering his injury. The rest of his wounds weren't as severe and were much less painful for Roger, though he soon realized he was beginning to whine miserably with every touch to his sensitive skin, and tears had begun to form despite how hard he fought not to cry. 

"Almost over, Roger." The attendant told as she placed another fresh strip of dressing on his aching body, finally leaving him alone. "See? Not too bad at all." She gave a smile to both men in the room and exited while the two remaining inside watched.

"Are you okay, Rog?" Brian asked, placing his hand over Rogers'. He now wished he'd asked her to leave him for just a little longer to rest.

The blonde nodded weakly, wincing as he laid back down. "Oh, jus' better than ever." He brought a hand to his head, running his hands through his damp hair with a confused frown. By the way he ran his fingers over the spots where his hair was down to the roots and missing, he was aware of the situation though he didn't show any reaction to it which surprised Brian. If this had happened four years ago, Roger would have had a stroke at even the thought.

"Did you...Brush my hair?" He asked as he looked over at the detangler and hairbrush that was still shiny from the wetness.

"Well, yeah. You wanted me to, do you remember that? You kind of fell asleep right after. You were really out of it."

He hadn't but didn't reply, simply fixing his gaze on the bottles of Japanese soda laid out for him with what could be considered excitement. Roger picked up the drink, running his thumb over the label and looked back at Brian in an almost guilty expression.

"Did you get these for me?" Asked Roger as he held the bottle up. Brian nodded with a smile, and for a moment Roger even smiled back. 

Roger cleared his throat, his expression falling as he set the bottle back down carefully. He positioned himself away from his friend with a sharp inhale, placing a hand on his side with a wince of pain. The agony of pressing down on an incision he'd received not two days ago was better than allowing himself to show emotion in his mind, especially when his body had convinced him he was undeserving of the happiness.

"Rog, are you okay?" Brian asked carefully, not wanting to tip him off.

"Yeah, Brian." He replied quietly with gritted teeth, running his hand over his torso carefully as he settled back down. It was clear he was in a lot of discomfort but he was attempting not to reveal it, even if the heart monitor gave him away with every jump and bound. They both overlooked this giveaway as Brian didn't want to disturb an already stressed man.

"Rog, if you wanna talk-" Brian attempted to begin, but Roger promptly cut him off with a glare and a roll of his hand.

"I don't wanna  _talk_ to you, Brian. I don't wanna  _talk_ to any doctor here bout' my feelings, and I don't wanna talk to anyone. I'm tired an' I don't feel good." He inhaled pointedly yet his chest shuddered. "I don't even know why you came back, I didn't need this stuff." The expression on Roger's face was of great remorse for what he just said, and when he opened his mouth to speak again, Brian was the one to close him down.

"Roger, I know you're in a lot of pain. I know that. But," He placed a hand out for his friend, to which he looked at thoughtfully. "You don't need to take it out on me."

The blonde seemed to be on the brink of tears but he quickly ran his hands over his face, wiping them away as soon as possible as to not present sentiment. For only a brief moment Roger took his friend's hand but let go when he began holding it in return. The move of kindness was too much for him to handle, and soon the tears he repeatedly attempted to suppress started running down his cheeks.

"Please don't touch me." Whispered Roger in a gravelly voice. His drunkenness from the drugs subsided in that very moment, and he seemed soberer than he had since he woke up only to say that. He uttered the words but his body betrayed him as his hand continued to reach for his friend in comfort and Brian decided to place his hand near him as to meet him in the middle in a way. The blonde was content with that and attempted to keep his bothersome weeping to himself by pressing down on his incision as to catch his mind off of his emotional pain and distract himself.

"So, Roger," Brian began, looking away from his pained companion in an attempt to hold back his own tears. "I have two really cool friends. I think you'll like them." 

Roger looked up in confusion, but Brian continued. "Their names are John and Freddie, and Freddie reminds me a lot of you. I think you guys will get along well. John is a little quiet, but he's fun when you get to know him." As he continued, Roger didn't understand why he was telling him all of this. Soon, he would be out of the infirmary and both of them would be back to their lives, becoming strangers to each other once again. It must have been Roger's mind forcing him to forget the love Brian held for him because he truly believed once he was out of the hospital he would be left alone once again.

"I don't understand, Brian," Roger questioned with a frown. "Why're you telling me this? Are they coming here? I don't even know them..." 

"I'm letting you know because I was wondering if you know...You'd like to stay with me for a few weeks after you get out. You know, just until you're okay again."

Roger gazed at Brian with an expression he couldn't read, but when the blonde took his hand and tightly gripped it - near painfully - he knew it was a good sign. He sniffled pathetically and nodded, running his free hand through his, somewhat damp, hair.

"I'd like that, yeah. You wouldn't mind?" Roger glanced up with glassy eyes for confirmation, and when Brian placed his other hand on top of the one he was holding and nodded with a smile, he eventually smiled back.

Roger was unaware but he'd been released into Brian's custody once he was discharged from the hospital. The doctors and nurses had let him know that Roger wasn't on any lease or any payment for a car, practically a ghost to the system besides a criminal record of petty theft, possession of marijuana, and public intoxication followed by a fight that landed him in jail for the night to sober up and not become hostile again. Brian hoped, upon hearing his charges and record, that each event was separate and he didn't have one weird night where he did all four crimes at once.

The only signs he existed legally were from a car accident he'd been in two years ago in his Oldsmobile, but it seemed he never got it fixed as the plate was found in a junkyard, plus past insurance claims from when they had lived together. It seemed he was either homeless or shared a home with someone who didn't put him on the lease agreement, meaning he was staying illegally. It would have been an awkward conversation if he'd said no to staying with him, as it would be far too late.

That was the night that Roger laughed as he used to for the first time in front of Brian and he found humor in a story Brian told about his work and how he once broke three plates at once without even moving. The story itself wasn't funny, it was more how he told it but either way, it made him glad that he had a motive to laugh.

Not long after that, Roger was reaching for one of the Japanese drinks after Brian closed the doors once again so the doctors wouldn't get on them for drinking soda while one of them was still a patient. Once they both had their drinks, the younger man in the bed walked his friend through exactly how to open the bottles as if he'd ever forgotten. Brian followed closely with a grin as he saw his excitement of teaching him, but his enthusiasm fell when he found he was too weak to push the plunger into the top to rush the marble into the drink by himself.

"I got it, don't worry." Brian took the bottle from his friend and forced the plunger into the drink, the marble clinking into the glass. He returned the drink to Roger and they both drank, though slowly as Brian didn't want to risk having his friend having an upset stomach on top of all else.

The rest of the night, the pair sat in the bed together as Brian told him stories of his life, though Roger never joined in himself. The hospital bed was uncomfortable and crinkled with every motion, but Roger was small enough to allow Brian enough room on the bed to sit. He had grown into more of a listener instead of a talker as he used to be, but this was understandable in his condition. Roger laid down sometime within one of the stories and had begun to look awfully drained, and when Brian crept out of the bed and back into his chair, his friend was drowsing off quickly with a calm look on his face.

It was the most at peace he'd seen Roger since being in the hospital and he watched him sleep for a while. Brian had begun to notice the subtle ways he would move or mumble in his sleep just as he had when they were dating. One occasion comes to mind when the two were in bed after a long night and Roger told him to go fuck himself in his sleep, though Brian was convinced he knew what he was saying and just needed to tell him to go fuck himself. The next morning when Brian told him what he'd said, he put his hands up and giggled, telling him ' _Well, maybe you should go fuck yourself!"_ They both laughed at that point.

Brian hadn't realized how much he'd missed Roger - and his laughter - until he heard it again. He relished in the way he smiled and snickered, nibbling at his lip when he found something particularly entertaining and he loved when he would wrap a finger into his hair absently. 

It was a good sign that Roger had agreed to stay with him until he was alright again, though Brian wasn't completely sure his friend had a companion who would support him in a positive manner who would look after him and make sure he doesn't hurt himself as he would. The last time he saw his former friend was in front of his apartment, watching Roger's car drive away from him.

If he would have understood it would be the last time he ever saw him for five years and the circumstances for their next encounter, he would have done more to prevent him from ever leaving his side.

 

* * *

 

 

He'd promised himself he would never get this low,  and technically when you're standing on a bridge you're pretty damn high.

When he woke up that morning his first thought was that he needed to do laundry. If he was going to be washed up on some beach enveloped in glass and dirty needles, he might as well be somewhat orderly and well dressed for the poor EMT who would be scraping his body off of the sea-salt misted rocks. He'd brushed his hair and thrown on his cleanest dress shirt and slacks before heading out for the day. Since he wouldn't be back tomorrow, he stopped at a coffee shop and ordered the most expensive thing on the menu.

It was bitter, and by the time he received it, it was stiff. Roger tipped the rest of the money in his wallet, which was over fifty pounds. He stuck around for a moment after he'd exited the building to see the young woman who served him pick up the cash and grin with excitement which gave the man outside a feeling of something he hadn't felt in a long time. It wasn't quite enough of a good feeling to stop him from the plans he'd had for the night, however.

The rest of the day he determined on a time and location. It had come down to one of two bridges and Roger had walked past a particularly beautiful bridge that afternoon and waited for the right time when traffic was slower as to not draw attention to himself. The last thing he needed was someone trying to be a hero. He would hate to be the kid who wanted to jump from a bridge only to be pulled back by the collar and have a chat about his feelings. No, he was going to die that night. This was his last hurrah and he didn't want to end it feeling like a moron who couldn't even jump from a bridge. 

When it was near midnight he returned to the bridge. It was cool outside, and he wished he'd brought a coat. Roger ran his hands over the cool metal before sitting on the edge of the safety bars meant for people like him, though by how low they were it clearly wasn't doing any good. There was a chain metal fence below him covered in lockets from loving couples who'd passed by the same bridge. Roger wondered if they ever thought of jumping as well. On the safety bar were engravings of past jumpers such as himself, and it made him feel welcomed in a deranged way. He almost wished he'd brought a knife to engrave his own name and date of jumping.

' _I jumped _20/1/1993'__   One engraving said. ' _I ended my life 3/8/2018'_ another one wrote. He wondered how many of the hundreds of engravings on the bar had survived. How many were saved in the nick of time, and how many had chickened out. He wasn't going to be deterred from his mission that night, and he settled himself carefully as to not slip. He wanted this to be of his own free will, not a mistake.

His gaze was focused on the clear night sky and he had a dimly ignited cigarette draping from his lips as to cool his nerves which helped warm his body and alleviate a bit of his hesitation.

"The stars are out, the weather is good," Roger spoke to the nothing in front of him. Perhaps in his loneliness, he decided to believe in someone to talk to in his moment of need. "And I'm enjoying my last few minutes."

He stood suddenly, swinging around carelessly before clutching the bars of the bridge from behind his back as if to test the limits of his mortality moments before it would be taken from him. The salty air chilled his sweating palms and forehead and caused a shiver to run down his spine, each car passing by causing him to jerk forward a bit. Few cars slowed down to see what he was doing, but none stopped. Perhaps this was his sign it was meant to be.

"If anyone out there who cares is hearing this, I want you to know I chose this," He paused and inhaled deeply, his hands shaking violently as he raised them from the bars slowly. He desperately hoped it wouldn't hurt, repeating ' _Please don't hurt'_ over and over in his head like a mantra. "And I'm not sorry."

He had planned his demise for weeks, all the way up to the day and what times would be best. It was a Saturday night and this particular bridge was one he'd gone over various times on his way to diverse areas. He'd always liked it because he sometimes saw cats eating scraps while playing or traveling themselves and, occasionally, he'd be allowed to pet them if he brought them lunch which always made him happy. Roger needed his last memory to be somewhere where he smiled more than once and not a random area he was unaware of.

After all the planning, he wasn't exactly prepared to  _miss._ When you think of jumping off of a bridge, you imagine being tied to a bungee cord or maybe you would think of falling into a large body of water to either break your fall or breaking  _you._ What he didn't think of was the fact he would miss, and subsequently, fall directly on a boat. Even less, into an umbrella that pierced directly into his side and suspended him in the air while his limbs dangled below him.

Roger heard screaming but it sounded far away and echoed and the first feeling was of a biting pain in his hip followed by coldness. When he opened his eyes, everything was a bit blurry and tinged in red. His nose tickled and his eyes felt like they were filling with tears. Once he attempted to sit up, he felt a ripping and his head bounce off of wood flooring as he tumbled off of the decoration and onto the deck floor. Roger dragged himself up strenuously, even with multiple hands attempting to press him back down, and put a hand to his side that was now dripping in a thick, red, oozing liquid.

The umbrella he'd landed on had snapped under his weight and the tears he'd felt was blood running into his eyes, as he now noticed. He felt nothing and his ears were ringing. The only sounds he could hear was his heart thumping at a slow, steady pace. He'd never felt so peaceful in his life, and he wondered if this is what death felt like. It was a bit disappointing there was no light at the end of the tunnel like every movie seemed to describe, but the calmness was more than enough in his state of what he believed was dying.

He attempted opening his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a strangled noise and the flavor of metal in his mouth as blood poured from it that pooled down his chin and therefore down his white shirt. He cursed himself for getting his dress shirt soiled with his blood as this would be the outfit he'd be dying in soon, and he planned on looking sharp for the event.

Roger didn't retain the memories of standing and grasping on to his torn apart flesh where the umbrella caught him, and he certainly didn't remember collapsing back on to the wooden deck, begging for help, while the passengers called the police after realizing the damage he'd done and gravity of the circumstances. Roger only remembered waking in the hospital cuffed to a bed, his side throbbing with more pain than he'd ever known before and enveloped in blue and purple discolored wounds while he was being wheeled down a narrow hallway with men and women in lab coats staring down at him in pity that made his gut wrench.

"Am I dead?" He asked the doctors who he'd assumed were the angels sent to take him to the pearly gates. He was sadly mistaken when a doctor shook her head and smiled as if it was good news.

"No, you're gonna be fine. It's gonna be okay."

That wasn't what he wanted to hear and he attempted to sit up, only to realize his body was chained down by the wrists and feet. Panic rose in his stomach as he attempted to wiggle the thin limbs out of the restraints, only succeeding in being scolded and told to lay back down before he popped his stitching. When did he get stitches? How long was he asleep for? If not heaven, where was he? The answers weren't going to come easily, as he was now the brand new patient of the psyche ward. The pain in his side was now obvious and in a sudden reaction, he let out a choked sob he wasn't aware he was holding in. 

"I-I wanna go _home_." He begged breathlessly. There was no reply as he was taken into his room he'd now be calling home until he healed. "I said I wanna go home!" He shouted in an empty attempt for attention and perhaps pity while he tried to free his wrists. Hot tears were running down his face but he hadn't noticed as he was already running hot from fighting back the restraints. A nurse came to his side once the rest of the staff had gone and she was equipped with a needle attached to a heavy bag of a clear liquid that Roger wasn't sure was. He looked up and rolled his neck over his shoulders pathetically in an attempt for sympathy. "I wanna go home, _please_ let me go home. I'll do anything."

"As soon as you're all better, Mr.Taylor!" She replied in an all too cheery tone for his taste. He clenched his teeth as he felt his lips quiver with absolute fear.

"Please...?" Roger asked one more time, his voice breaking as he watched the needle slide into his arm. He knew once the IV was inside of him, there was no going back. The sharp pain was a slight comfort and distracted him from his burning side and aching body. No response came of this. The nurse had most likely been begged for mercy a million times over the years from different patients, and this one was no different. 

Once the nurse left, the lights were dimmed so he could attempt to catch some sleep. They had assumed the morphine would do its job but they were mistaken as he had a high tolerance for drugs from years of partying. He was unable to rest from anxiety and cried for most of the night for his home, his parents who he hadn't seen in so long, and his old friends he left behind many years ago.

Roger couldn't catch his breath for nearly two hours and he was sure the heart monitor rising faster and faster would be of some concern to the doctors- however, he was incorrect and was alone in the room for the remainder of the night. For most of the time, he was convinced he was having a heart attack of some sort and his shouting for help wasn't working. The doctors were too used to patients screaming their lungs dry, and Roger wasn't special in any way. He found this cruel and he was beginning to feel like he _had_ died, but not gone to Heaven as this was closer to Hell. The creeping loneliness was overwhelming and he'd begun to wonder how he would try again to end his life when he left the hospital.

The only nurse who eventually came to his pleading was only there to see what he had been screaming about, and when he explained that he felt like his heart was going to explode, she simply pushed more sedatives into his IV and told him to get some sleep as he was only having a panic attack which was reasonably common for people after something so traumatic. He did eventually fall asleep in the early hours of the day just after the sun came up, a sun he thought he'd never see again. What a strange feeling that was.

The damage to his body was as follows; Two broken ribs, the skin from his side was torn and shredded though stitched up after an operation, deep purple and green bruises had begun to form all over his person, and malnourishment was added to the list because of how thin and weak he was. He had overheard talk of him having an eating disorder, but in reality, he'd lost his appetite long ago after his depression forced him into a hole. No one listens to a psych patient and instead of a definite judgment, they scrawled ' _Eating Disorder?'_ on a sheet that hung on the front of his bed. A suicide attempt, plain and simple. Major depressive disorder, anxiety, and possibly bipolar disorder were his diagnosis as if he was being summarized into a category of insanity. Aside from his mental illnesses that he wasn't convinced he had despite having been evaluated, asthma was on the list which he was quite aware of.

Being scolded and talked down to by doctors for having asthma while being a smoker when you're twenty-three made him feel like a child, only making him feel worse in his stay.

It was the sickest he'd ever felt physically and mentally and he was alone in bed for nearly three days before Brian arrived. He'd not been informed he was coming, and for three days he believed no one would bother coming to see if he was okay or even give a call to check up on his state of being. No one knew he was here, and perhaps no one cared enough. Maybe if he had died, no one would have even noticed he was gone at all.

When his former lover from so long ago was in front of him after waking up, it felt like he was going to be okay again.

* * *

 

When Roger woke up, it was still dark outside and he was being swayed by Brian clasping his shoulders.

Brian had been attempting to get some rest after snacking on one too many packets of sweets from the vending machine that were full of sugar which caused sleep to be more of something he would have to be patient with obtaining. The hospital chairs were incredibly uncomfortable and far too small for his long structure, which meant he had to perch his feet up on the edge of the hospital bed as to not give himself a horrid cramp he'd be walking off for hours.

He'd been scanning over a magazine detailing two celebrities to break up when Roger had begun to shift uncomfortably in his bed, seemingly distressed. Brian sat up before running a hand over his friend's calf to comfort him, but unfortunately, he only continued to move about in his sleep. He didn't think much of this until his breathing became hitched and he'd begun to whimper with a pained expression on his face, tears beginning to run down his cheeks while remaining unconscious.

"Hey, Roger," Brian whispered, shaking his shoulder as gently as he could. Roger remained asleep and he pushed him a bit more. Once more rocking didn't result in stirring him, Brian bit the bullet and pushed a hand down on Roger's incision to which he jolted up right out of bed with a full gasp.

"Hey, hey!" The older man shouted as Roger gripped both of his wrists in a weak attempt to get him distant from his friend in his confused, incoherent state.

"Where am I?!" Roger yelled, his breathing becoming more of a series of gasps as he investigated the room over. He wasn't on the boat, no longer on the sunshade dangled by the flesh in his side with blood spurting into his eyes and nostrils, and the screaming from terrified travelers was no longer heard. Upon realizing this and grounding himself, he'd begun to calm his raging panic down a little.

"I'll go get a nurse, yeah?" 

Roger reached out and gripped Brian's hand, squeezing it painfully as to force him to halt. His friend darted a glance back to the blonde and saw the look of complete dread staring back at him.

" _Please_  don't leave, don't get a nurse." He pleaded, his speech harsh and catching in his throat. "I don't wanna be alone."

Brian thought about it for a moment and contemplated his choices. Helping Roger by getting a doctor or nurse would most likely result in him being restrained by the wrists again, but not getting help might result in him having another - more severe - panic attack.

The final conclusion was to only get maintenance if his heart rate accelerated above average and caused him to lose his calm again, but for now, Brian sat back down and held his friend's trembling hand as he attempted to get himself under control.

"You need anything?" Brian asked quietly as he ran his thumb over Roger's hand gently, his friend watching the ceiling blankly.

"I need some air." He said calmly before swallowing dryly. He knew more than anyone he wasn't allowed out of the building, even worse not allowed to open the windows that looked to be sealed shut for the patient's safety. Brian wasn't dull either and sighed deeply as he looked at the door and away from his companion.

"Y'know I can't help with that, Rog. I would if I could." Brian scooted his chair closer to the bed. "Can I get you any water or something? So you can get a bit more rest?"

Roger pondered over the idea for a bit before he sat up, inching a bit to the right as he pats on the now vacant spot on his mattress that crinkled with each movement. 

"I'd be more comfortable if you...You know. Unless that's weird..."

Brian was glad Roger was becoming more open with him being there, and now with the fact he was asking if he'd sleep with him in the same bed was a good sign as well. Brian didn't reply, he merely gave a smile and crawled into the bed with him as carefully as he could as to not cause him any pain. The IV cords wrapped around his long frame awkwardly as he attempted to get under the sheets, and both men helped get them off before laying down.

They faced towards each other and the hands of the blonde traveled to his companion's cheeks, moving his thumbs across the bones in his face. His hands remained trembling, but now that he had someone with him it seemed his nightmare was fading away behind curly hair and deep brown eyes. 

Roger turned to his other side with a pained grunt, turning only to wiggle back into the older man's torso. Once he was comfortable he turned back around and took Brian's hands before pulling them over his body and holding them close to his chest. He was more protected and supported than he'd felt in years, and soon he was slumping back into sleep without dread of being awakened by nightmares.

Brian stayed awake, however, as he drank at the moment. It had been too long since he'd felt the warmth of his former lover in his arms, too long since he's heard his voice. It was growing difficult to recollect why they'd ever broken up in the first place.

It was growing even more difficult to recall why he ever let Roger out of his arms as he turned off the lights and tucked the scratchy blanket under Roger's frail body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried a while back while writing this chapter cause i used a lot of details from a spinal surgery i had a while back and a lot of details from my own suicide attempts (but i wont mention which elements are from my real life just cause its a whole sob story) so this one is really like hitting home lmao. this chapter iS 7K WORDS LONG ALONE. jesus christ. i went a little overboard. i really hope yall enjoyed this one because i think this is my favorite chapter besides another one i did which i think is chapter 4? idk. anyway, leave a comment please!! tell me what you think!!!


	4. Slip Inside This House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger is released from the clinic and Brian takes him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi so the updates might slow just a little because i ended up deleting 2 entire chapters in favor for a much better and more action packed plot line!!! i love it way more than my previous ideas and i think y’all are gonna love it!
> 
> Title: Slip Inside This House - The 13th Floor Elevators

Roger had been in the infirmary for nearly two weeks.

Brian's hotel room had become a space where he kept extra things but his place of sleep was next to Roger when he'd woken up with a nightmare, or if he just needed someone to hold him. He had no issue with him, of course, as he loved him and wanted to support him in any way he could.

He had been told early on in his stay that he had a choice of inpatient or outpatient programs, meaning he would be able to stay or leave depending on which he felt he needed more. Roger had settled on an outpatient program as he knew Brian would be needing to leave to his home which was quite the drive, and he didn't want him wasting cash to drive back and forth just to visit him after he'd offered him a place at his home.

When his stitches had healed enough to be taken out, the injury was left weeping and irritated which resulted in a migraine that brought Roger to frustrated tears. He'd been scheduled to leave in the afternoon of that day but as he had an immobilizing migraine, the date was rescheduled to the following morning. He was hardly conscious for more than ten minutes at a time that day, and each minute he  _was_ awake was brought on by doctors and nurses checking in on him even when he practically begged them to leave him alone. Biting your tongue while your friend suffers in front of you, staring at you with pleading eyes as if you were able to help, was torture.

Brian understood the pain he was in and diverted his attention from the pounding in his skull while he ate, had his wounds examined, or had to use the bathroom by running his long fingers through his hair gently.

By the next day, he was up and around and no longer tied to the bed by his feet. He was able to stretch and wander by himself around the room as his IV and other attachments were removed carefully, and he was checked for final results to conclude if his injuries were recovered enough to sustain being in a vehicle for more than an hour. The staff determined that they were, and soon Brian and Roger were gradually traveling down the hallway to retrieve the things Roger had entered with. 

It felt freeing to be able to walk again and not hear the steady rhythm of his heart monitor and if he had to suffer one more moment with that beeping he might have just thrown it across the room to shut the damn thing up.

The blonde's hands were coiled around his friend's forearm for assistance as he was still considerably fragile and weak. His legs wobbled below him as he walked despite how stiff he attempted to stand to cover it, it was embarrassing to say the least. The only items he'd arrived with was a pair of dress slacks with a marble tucked into the pocket, a now ripped button down dress shirt, and a pack of smokes. The tear was quite large and choppy, and upon seeing it, Roger grimaced. A small black back-pack sat beside his items, the front covered by the hospitals logo. It held his things and he quietly slid his extra items into the bag. 

Roger held the shirt up and ran his hand through the hole thoughtfully, wondering how they'd accomplished getting blood stains out of a white article of clothing as delicate as this. Behind him, Brian inspected the hole just as thoughtfully. No one had told him in detail what had happened that night on the bridge, only that he was close to puncturing a vital organ, but by the look of the shirt, the knowledge of his injuries, and the nights of helping him calm himself after a night terror, he had to assume it was nothing short of traumatizing.

"Hey, I have some extra clothes for you in my car if you wanna just let me grab them," Brian mentioned as he took the shirt from his companion gently, the man letting go of the item once it was being removed from his grip.

"Yeah, go ahead." He said absently, his mind on other things. He was lost in his thoughts, his mind stuck pondering how the stains were removed. It seemed silly to be caught thinking of laundry, but it does make you think.

Once Brian had left to gather the clothes, Roger was left with the staff keeping a careful eye on him. He felt incredibly vulnerable and knew he was being observed for any psychotic behavior as if he'd snap again and need to be sedated or carted off to the psychiatric wing where he'd be stuffed into a straight jacket and told to talk about his feelings. That was an unlikely scenario, but it still ran through his head. He felt like a caged animal.

Brian had returned and they both entered the bathroom, the blonde going into the stall alone while the other man waited outside. The trousers were far too large on his thin waist, and the shirt only accented how small he'd become. When he exited the stall, Brian tied a belt around his waist to keep them from slipping and returned the marble he'd found in his old trousers without a word. Roger gazed for a bit before taking it, slipping it into his ill-fitting set of jeans while his cheeks became a soft pink.

The first thing they did when they entered the car after leaving the hospital was stop off at a local pharmacy to get a prescription of pain killers and a variety of medication for his anxiety and depression for Roger, accompanied by getting something into his system that wasn't a day old Jell-O cup and peanut butter toast. Roger stayed silent through the prescription filling, humiliation driving in deeper each time the words ‘ _Depression_ ’, ‘ _Anxiety_ ’, and ‘ _Pain_ ’ left Brian’s mouth. Through his stay at the hospital, the only thing he seemed to want to eat was lime Jello-O and toast which Brian wasn't going to deny giving him even when the doctors attempted to warn them about eating something with more nutrition. Roger's idea of 'more nutrition' was stealing bites of whatever vending machine snack Brian had.

At first, Roger didn't admit he was hungry which Brian accepted as he had no reason not to believe him. This was until he'd begun to see the way his hands shook and he began to hear his friend's stomach betray him with every noise it delivered that filled the mostly soundless car.

"You told me you weren't hungry," Brian nagged, turning his eyes away from the road for a brief moment to see Roger biting his lip raw with anxiety.

"You don't have to get me anything, Brian, it's fine." He retorted, avoiding looking at his friend as he brought his legs up into the seat in a cross.

Brian looked at him and scoffed, running his hand over his boney knee gently. "Rog, you're fine. It's me, remember?"

Roger gave in with a wave of his hand, admitting he would eat if given food which was more code for:  _Yes Brian, I am hungry._

The pair ended up stopping at some sleazy drive through where Roger got a burger and fries with water while Brian received something that could hardly be called a salad. At first, Roger was hesitant at picking at his meal as he felt Brian was observing his every move, but once the food had cooled off a bit more and he got more comfortable with being near him, he began to keep his mind off of the company he had and just enjoyed eating something that wasn't served to him on a blue tray or made of gelatine.

Roger, despite his hesitation at first, ended up finishing his meal far before Brian was even close despite Brian's warnings to slow down and take his time before he got a stomach ache. He couldn't care less about a stomach ache, all he knew was he was hungry and this was the best thing he'd ever eaten. His water was drunk as if it would be taken from him, and soon he was leaning back to relax with a light coat draped over his torso he'd pulled from the back seat.

"Thank you, Brian..." He murmured near apologetically, resisting to look at his friend. Brian looked over and gave a smile and a thumbs up in true Brian fashion.

As the sun was still up, the light shined directly in his face which kept him from seizing any rest. Upon noticing his predicament, Brian pointed to an old hat in the back of the car that Roger took and investigated carefully. The letters on the front read ' _#1 Mom'._ Roger smirked and held up the cap to his friend, who also grinned.

"That's Freddie's hat, he doesn't even have kids." Brian chuckled and took the hat, placing it on Roger's head. It was a bit large on him so he had to adjust the strap in the back. "Now  _you're_ the number one mom, Rog."

"What a high honor. I'll use my title well." Roger said in a triumphant decision, though his voice cracked and became quieter as he spoke.

The younger man fastened his hat to fit his head better and curled up in the passenger's seat until he was comfortable, keeping his wrists awkwardly tucked into his chest. Roger was a master of falling asleep wherever he could, when they were dating he often found him sleeping in the oddest places. Once he watched Roger go up the stairs to do laundry and found him half an hour later face down in a pile of shirts - however still standing - completely unconscious and snoring.

The fact he was able to position himself into a cramped looking position in the limited sized seat next to him was no surprise, but more of a matter of concern at this point as he was still healing from his injuries and the bruising had to hurt.

Roger slept for nearly half of the ride back to where Brian lived and quietly woke when he stopped to get gas. Upon hearing the driver's seat shut with a loud creak, he sat up and stretched, his spine cracking as he did, and lazily stepped out of the car once he realized Brian was inside of the petrol station. He drew a hand to his healing side and ran his fingers over it, causing pain to shoot through his body. When he lifted his shirt, he saw the way his hip bone bulged out from his skin and the scar wrapped around most of his torso beyond the bandage covering the worst of it, fading out as it reached nearer to his middle.

The feeling that he felt running through him wasn't something he'd felt before. It was cold but warmed him. It was a hideous scar, and he knew he would be living with the sore-sight for the rest of his life which was the hardest pill to swallow. As he ran his fingers over the injury he was unaware he had an audience staring at him from the doors of the building who was just as upset seeing him this way as he was staring down at his broken body.

Brian exited the station and watched as Roger ran his fingers along his bandaged wound, a mixed expression of guilt and sadness across his face. He had a bag of snacks and drinks for the two of them cradled in his arms, including a pack of gauze and rolled bandages for his ribs. Brian approached and the blonde quickly put his shirt back down, turning on his heel to greet his travel partner with his cheeks burning in embarrassment and profound shame.

"Sleep okay?" Brian asked as he unloaded the food items into the car. He attempted to make no signal he'd seen Roger's actions, but it was clear.

Roger only nodded and crossed his arms over his torso in the humiliation of being caught, his cheeks turning an even more radiant red underneath the draining lights that highlighted his pale skin and dark under eyes. Brian held up two boxes; A box of bandages and a box of gauze. He raised a brow and shook both when Roger didn't say anything.

"You want to change them now or later? We're stopped now, and I can get you some rubbing alcohol or something." 

Roger didn't seem pleased or even grateful he'd gotten his medical supplies, in fact, he seemed almost angry at Brian for getting them in the first place. He walked around the car and grabbed both boxes without a word before practically shooting into the gas station, immediately removing his  _#1 Mom_ hat and shoving it into his pocket as much as he could to save himself more distress.

Once Roger was inside, he hurried to the bathroom and sat the packages on the sink, leaning against the wall as he attempted to relax. His chest rose and fell quickly and he practically tore into both boxes and dumped out the containment in his hands before removing his shirt, throwing it over his shoulder lazily.

The tan colored wrap around his chest that protected his rib cage was the first to come off, and he soon felt relief when they were finally removed as he could breathe on his own terms instead of the binding that kept his ribs from cracking again. Although it felt good for a moment, he soon felt the dull ache from his chest cavity rising and he decided it was better to hurry instead of enjoying his moment of freedom. This was his life now.

Roger bound the new dressing around his ribs, though in his frustration perhaps a bit too strong, and removed the bandage covering his sewn injury. The cover was clammy with red spots and drainage, but other than that it looked fine for something so hideous trespassing on his body. After he'd cleaned up the site, he placed his shirt back on and exited the bathroom. He was still frustrated and breathing heavily, but each breath ached in his torso.

He hated being treated as if at any moment he could shatter like a glass vase. He hated the feeling of being sympathized with and given puppy-dog eyes from Brian. He felt weak and disgusting like he was never meant to come back from that bridge. Emotions were something Roger kept closely guarded and to himself, even when he was on his last limb and giving up. He simply hated being pitied and that is exactly what his friend was doing to him; pitying him to death.

When he eventually exited the station and returned to the chilly weather outside, he saw as Brian sipped on a bottle of juice he'd bought. From the looks of it, he'd bought Roger one as well. This didn't help the situation and the blonde paused for a moment as he felt his temper rise once again. He didn't want to be taken care of, not at all. He didn't deserve the nice things Brian was buying him with his own hard earned cash. One thing he'd learned from his years of being alone was the value of a dollar.

Being unbathed, homeless, without a car, and looking like you'd just crawled from a half-way house wasn't a great way to get a job and the things Roger often had to do to obtain pay just to have a meal he didn't find in the rubbish ended in bruised knees and lewd stares. It was no way to live, but he did because he had to or he starved.

"Are you okay, Roger?" Brian called from across the lot upon noticing the way he stopped suddenly.

"Yes, Brian, I'm good." Roger's tone was condescending and harsh, and the other man almost questioned what his problem was as he was fine just before he went into the bathroom. However, he once again reminded himself that Roger was healing and only took it out on him because he was in pain and most likely struggling to cope.

Brian shifted to see his friend grip the door handle with his breathing becoming seemingly shakey and rigged. He could hardly get a single proper breath in. "Hey, are you sure you're okay? Did you get everything changed all right?" 

The younger man didn't reply this time, he simply climbed into the car and attempted to get comfortable once again, though the brittle bones in his chest had begun to throb painfully. Brian shrugged his shoulders and joined him before they began driving again. Roger didn't seem in the mood to talk and anxiously bobbed his leg up and down as he drew a cigarette from the backpack holding his trousers in the floorboard.

The hospital was not only against the patients in the psyche ward leaving their rooms if not supervised, but was even more against smoking in any case. It wouldn't have helped if he wasn't chained to the bed as the windows were painted shut for the more desperate patients, and he was sure if his ankles hadn't been restrained he would have taken full advantage of the windows. Withdrawal hit him as soon as he woke up the morning after the bridge, and once he asked for a smoke he was rejected hastily. His body was craving the nicotine it had been rejected for nearly two weeks, and as soon as the cigarette was between his fingers his heart sped up in apprehension.

"Can I...?" Roger motioned to the window as he brought the stick to his lips, one hand moving towards the lighter in the car. He clearly wasn’t asking, more demanding with a question mark placed at the end. Brian gave a confused glare for a moment, rolling down the window for him.

Roger had always been one to go against smoking cigarettes as he found it to be disgusting, often claiming he would rather cut his left hand off than develop an addiction to nicotine in his usual dramatic fashion. Brian always admired that about him as most of his friends were smokers, and Brian's own father had been one as well. He was proud of his boyfriend for never giving in and picking up the habit during their relationship especially as he was asthmatic but now as he sat next to him with a smoke in his mouth, it was clear his opinions had changed.

"I didn't know you smoked, I thought you were against that." He claimed in dismay, receiving a raised brow from Roger. "What about your asthma?"

"Well," Roger used his tongue to move the rod to the side of his mouth while he zipped the backpack up. "I can't breathe normally anyway. I'm gonna have asthma whether if I smoke or not." He could practically feel Brian's stare boring holes into him as he lit the cigarette. "I have an inhaler, I got a new one from the hospital. I didn't exactly bring mine with me, you know." As proof, he unzipped his backpack and pulled out a blue inhaler. On top of his cigarette, he uncapped the medicine canister and took a puff as evidence that it was real in case there was a shadow of a doubt. The familiar hiss of the inhaler filled the car and Roger quickly pulled his smoke back into his mouth.

Brian, admitting to himself that he'd lost that battle, nodded solemnly. "I suppose a lot changes."

They didn't talk for a bit after that and Roger was satisfied with that, as he was already on edge from not only the withdrawal he'd been dealing with but also the constant stream of thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone. Thoughts of how hideous and scarred his body was now, and wondering how many more scars would show up as he healed. He'd slept through the sunset but the nighttime sky was just as beautiful, and every star was out tonight. The only obstructions were the occasional clouds. To them, it only made the scene pleasanter as the moon showed through the thin clouds.

Brian was the first to break the silence when he noticed the way Roger had been shifting uneasily in his seat, running his hands over his torso while grimacing. His chest pounded and his ribs were in so much agony he felt like he could vomit at any moment. His stomach that was still full of greasy fast food wasn't helping the cause as it twisted with every bump of the vehicle.

"Hey, you ate earlier so you should be good to take some of those pain killers if you need them."

Roger looked over before returning his gaze to his lap guiltily. "I don't need them."

"Rog, there's nothing wrong with taking-" 

"Listen, just leave it, okay? I don't want them." Roger interrupted, putting a stiff hand in the air as to shut him up. Brian glanced over at his friend who continued to place a hand over his pecks, shifting his torso forcefully as he became exceeding stressed.

Taking medicine to help with the pain was admitting to weakness and he didn't need Brian knowing he was vulnerable. From the moment he saw his face enter his hospital room, after spending days crying and begging for someone to be with him without a reply, he wanted to be strong and put on a brave face for him, to seem tough and put-together. It was a silly thought, in retrospect, as the man had jumped off of a bridge and was the farthest thing from put-together at the moment which anyone with eyes could see. 

"Did I do something to you? You've been on edge since the petrol station."

"It's just- I don't want you to treat me like a baby, Brian. I'm fine, I'm absolutely fine. I appreciate your effort to help me but I just don't need it. Okay?" As he spoke he only worked himself up more, and his breathing became shallow.

"Roger, I'm not treating you like some child. I'm treating you like a human should be treated." Brian clarified, furrowing his brow in puzzlement. He opted to ignore the part where Roger claimed to be fine despite practically having a meltdown right in front of him over being taken care of. He was seeming to forget the way he'd been the one holding him tight at three-AM when he'd wake up gasping for air and attempting to uncuff himself from the bed from pure terror, his body feeling suffocated. 

The bandages encasing Roger's waist had begun to restrict his breathing, and soon it was a strain to get one breath in. He'd been too swept up in debating with Brian to notice until he sat up to reply but was now aware of how small his range of motion was becoming. The dull ache he'd been feeling turned sharp and agonizing in his body, shooting through him entirely. Roger perched up and placed a hand over his torso that grated as he inhaled deeply, his face draining as he became conscious of the fact he'd wound himself too tight in a literal sense. 

"I can't breathe," He rasped with rising panic. "Brian, I can't breathe, they're too tight." He gave no context to what article was too tight, but Brian knew as soon as he saw Roger attempting to unclip his bandages from his waist after suddenly and swiftly removing his shirt.

Brian quickly looked over in time to see Roger start to panic, which wasn't improving his situation in any way as he continuously attempted to gasp in more oxygen. The clip holding the covering together was at an awkward angle, therefore he was unable to reach them himself. As promptly as he could, the driver pulled over to the side of the road just as his passenger had begun to hyperventilate from his fright overpowering his reasoning. It felt all too much like when he first arrived in the clinic and he was left breathless and alone for far too long and he simply couldn't handle being in that situation again.

"You need to calm down,right _now_." Brian scolded brutally as he began reaching around his torso for the clip holding his dressing together and yanking it. The cast fell from his body and Roger swiftly urged Brian away from him as he panted, setting his hands over his bruised chest and closing his eyes in relief. Red marks showed from under the bandages and the metal clip had dug itself into his shoulder, leaving a small bleeding mark from where he'd begun to overextend his breathing. They sat in the cold silence, the only noise around in the car was the heavy breathing and the shuffling of both of their movement. 

"I'm in a lot of pain, I'm sorry." Roger puffed almost silently as he held the bandages in his shaking hands. His face was a bright red, either from the cruelty of his panting or from the embarrassment of allowing his emotions to get the best of him repeatedly in front of his friend. "I'm tired, and I don't feel well, and I just..." He trailed off once his voice was smothered in his throat. Roger was never good at fights, and every time his temper would boil over it would more often than not end with him in tears.

Brian stretched toward the glove box and dragged out the small orange container of clattering pills, handing them to his friend who took it leisurely as he sighed in acceptance.

"I want you to know; I'm not babying you. You're a human, and you're my mate, and I'm gonna make sure you have basic human shit. Like food." He smiled and handed Roger a small jug of apple juice he'd bought him back at the station once he'd shaken out two capsules into his palm. "And I don't wanna hear anything else about it."

It took a minute, but soon he'd taken both tablets and was comfortably relaxing. They elected to stay on the side of the road until the medication kicked in as to not cause him any further pain or discomfort. Brian was the one who fixed the dressings back on Roger's torso, this time much looser and comfortable where the metal clip didn't cause him any more harm. Once the pills had taken effect, the blonde was reverted to his cramped position in the seat with his legs roosted up against his chest. The ache was finally subsiding itself and he felt a hundred pounds lighter. It was no morphine, but it was close enough in relieving not only his anxiety but his misery.

The journey home wasn't particularly interesting especially since Brian's company had fallen asleep on him, but the scenery remained pleasant and the music was good therefore he had nothing to fuss about. He'd spent most of it drinking his bottle of juice he'd gotten or snacked on a bag of chips while patting along to the music, occasionally turning it down to check if Roger's breathing was normal. 

Only once when he lowered the volume was his friends breathing a bit shaky, but when he shook him awake Roger looked at him and whispered: " _Hey, don't fuckin' touch me_." before falling right back asleep. It was a gamble to distinguish if he was actually unconscious or simply needed to tell him to not touch him as he rested, as he'd always been a bit of a sleep talker, something that hasn't changed in the years.

Brian's house wasn't too large but it was decently sized, as it had to be. He had two flatmates: Freddie and John. He quite enjoyed living with his closest friends and now adding Roger in with the home, he felt it was beginning to come together. He just wishes it wasn't under these circumstances.

Unfortunately, they hadn't been alerted quite yet of where he'd run off to for the past weeks. They'd both received a less than satisfactory text that read ' _Staying in hospital, not hurt, with Roger, jumped from bridge'_ which only brought more questions than answers. Freddie was the most stressed about the event and almost ran off to find him before John had to stop him, as he hadn't even given an address and his friend couldn't even drive. 

Freddie and John knew Roger as the love of Brian's life who suddenly dropped off the face of the world after a fight, and ever since no one had heard of him until recently. They had heard stories of him but had begun to believe he'd been embellishing as who would want to cut off such a supposedly perfect relationship over something so insignificant and trivial as a fight? When they read the name in the text they were both sure it had to have been a typo as he hadn't mentioned seeing Roger again when he scurried off to work the night of the call.

Roger had woken up once Brian opened the door for him before pushing him slightly. He sat up, slightly annoyed at being woken, while rubbing his eyes carefully until he saw spots in his vision and looked over the home behind the car with curious eyes. The house was a cream yellow with a white porch, now beige as time carried on, and had paintings hung up on the outside and hanging from strings in the ceiling. It looked the same as when Roger had left, and brought a chill down his spine from the sense of remembrance.

"I think Freddie and John are asleep, but it's fine we just have to be quiet," Brian mentioned as he unlocked the front door, allowing his friend in first who entered hesitantly.

Roger seemed incredibly timid as he slowly stepped inside and looked around the living room, his eyes scanning every inch thoroughly as if he was waiting for the walls to come down. He stood in the middle of the room while his shoulders pushed together as to make himself take up less room absently as Brian wandered around picking up things such as clothes and plates his roommates had left to clean the home up a bit for his friend who most likely needed a somewhat sterile environment or whatever they say on medical shows. The feeling of uncertainty yet knowing every inch of the home was a sickening feeling, similar to when you enter your middle school after graduation.

"Okay, so the couch turns into a bed and I'll go get you some blankets, sound good?" The older man asked.

"Yeah, sure, but I can just make a spot on the floor, Brian." He replied, his gaze dropping to the floor anxiously. The carpet was a more than a satisfactory place to lay down and it looked quite comfortable. Brian, however, disagreed.

Brian stared at him until Roger looked up at to meet his worried, and confused, gaze. "You broke your ribs and had an operation less than two weeks ago, and you want me to let you sleep on the floor?"

The blonde said nothing. He now felt stupid for even suggesting he sleep on the floor, and he kicked himself for recommending it as it was clearly moronic. 

"I'm gonna go get you some blankets, and then I'll make your bed. Don't do it yourself, and for the love of god don't lay on the floor, who knows what's on that carpet?"

Brian raced up the stairs while Roger idled in the middle of the living room, unsure how to position himself or what to do. He didn't want to risk walking around and perhaps breaking something, or worse making a mess, so he decided on acting as if he glued to the spot. It was dark even with a small light on that hardly illuminated the room but his eyes adjusted and he scanned the room further while Brian was gone. The only real difference between the home now and the home from when he lived there was that all of his stuff had been moved out. Possibly thrifted or thrown into a junkyard where all useless trash goes.

When his friend returned he was holding a stack of fluffy blankets, a pillow, and a pair of pajamas which when Roger took them, he held the items as if they would shatter if he grasped them too firmly. Brian didn't comment on this, however.

"If you need anything, there's food in the fridge and whatever else you need. If you have trouble sleeping, get me. You have your inhaler. Good?" Brian cooed with a loving grin that made the hair on the younger man's arms stand up. As he went through his list of things it seemed more like he was talking to himself more than he was to Roger.

"Yeah, good," Roger repeated as he entered the bathroom to change. The pajamas were as ill-fitting as the clothes he'd previously been wearing and as to get the pajama pants to fit he had to pull and tie the drawstring as far as it could go. Pants like these, long and loose, had been called  _Death Pants_  when they were a couple as when Roger wore them, he'd often trip and bust his lip open on the hardwood floor even when Brian warned him not to run in the house while wearing them. The sliding motion he got from the slippery fabric covering the bottoms of his feet were too fun to resist and he never learned his lesson.

Once he was dressed in his sleep clothes, Brian had already set him a spot on the couch and even turned the television on for him. Now that he was alone in the room everything seemed to be a bit too much. The memories of every second spent in his former lover's arms were rushing in too quickly as he scanned each piece of unchanged furniture, every dent in the wall, and every hole from a nail leaving a blemish was another vision.

There was a portrait of a young woman, a painting, in the kitchen. Brian wasn't one to paint, so it had to have been bought at a store or found somewhere. Long ago Roger and Brian, near the end of the relationship, had begun to have a fight when the younger man lost his temper and threw a ceramic coffee mug at the wall. It went straight through and left a large hole in the drywall. Roger approached the canvas and raised it, exposing a dusty hole from past times when he'd thrust the vessel into the kitchen surface.

The couch was new, but the stain underneath the sofa from when Roger and Brian were making love and spilled a bowl of soup onto their carpet had survived and was just another reminder of the life he'd lived in this home. Discerning how his life had been lived contrasted to the friendly and loving life he shared with Brian so long ago made his heart ache. 

Roger took his blankets and settled himself on the couch carefully to not damage the sofa itself, though he had no care about how much it ached his back muscles to slowly lower himself so strenuously. He decided he would leave once the opportunity presented itself, though he wouldn't be telling Brian. He didn't need another burden on his shoulders, and Roger Taylor in his current state was the greatest weight of them all. 

' _He has enough stress.'_ Roger reflected.  _'He doesn't need me bringing him down, I can't justify being here. I'm being selfish.'_

As he was already considerably fatigued and hadn't been this comfortable in a real bed in so long, he decided he would allow himself to indulge in this opportunity.

Soon enough, he would be healed and out of Brian's hair, back to being a memory no one wants to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally roger is out of the hospital! poor thing.  
> again, i’m not a doctor so like ignore my mistakes lmao  
> i love comments so lemme know what you guys think or what you think is gonna happen!!!


	5. You and I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger admits some things under the influence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry this took a while but i was so stuck wondering what to do with this chapter. i deleted a massive chunk from this entire chapter and ive been rewriting 5 and 6 so now i have a whole new plot im SO excited to share with yall!!!! im absolutely dying to post chapter 6 but i gotta be patient. 
> 
> im not the most happy with this chapter, but its so important and i really like my ideas in it so i hope yall can look past some of the errors and just appreciate the plot. this is where things really kick off, so im so excited to post this and the next few chapters. love u guys so much <3
> 
> also sorry this is a bit shorter but ... in my defense ive been so busy with chapter 6 and chapter 6 has 11k words by itself LMAO get ready for THAT
> 
> my tumblr is feedermercury if you have any ideas or suggestions or just wanna talk to me :0

Freddie and John had never met Roger and first impressions matter. However, when they woke in the morning to find the blonde sleeping on their fold out couch, it was a bit strange.

Roger had luckily slept through most of the night despite the pain throbbing through his entire body and it could have been considered the best night sleep he'd had in quite some time. He hadn't been woken by someone kicking him out of their home after a party, and he hadn't been picked up while still unconscious by the police, so it was to be considered a triumph in his book.

However, when Freddie and John woke up for the day and stepped downstairs into their living room, the last thing they were expecting was a visitor from their best friend's past to be on their couch, mouth wide open and snoring with drool pooling down his cheeks.

Freddie was the first to see him and stopped John as he came down the stairs, pointing towards the young man under a pile of blankets. They both watched in bewilderment before recognizing exactly who they were staring at as they'd seen photographs, their eyes widening.

"Is that Roger?" Freddie whispered in curiosity and to make sure he wasn't going mad.

"I think so, it would make sense," John said in return, his eyes wandering over the man who was still quietly asleep.

"Brian never said he was gonna bring him home. Guess something happened."

The pair crept down the steps slowly, the plush carpet masking their footsteps, and made it to the kitchen table where they sat down and quietly ate cold pizza from the nights before. As Brian did most of their cooking, they were both practically useless in the kitchen and survived on mostly non-cookable items such as canned fruit, take out, and frozen meals. No complaints from either of them, but their friends cooking did eventually become yearned for.

After around an hour, Freddie and John had really disregarded the fact there was, essentially, a stranger sleeping on their sofa. This was until Roger shot up abruptly with a choked gasp, which caused them both to jump from the shock. The blonde, still a bit groggy and out of it, turned his head slowly with eyes wide with worry and stared back at the two men already watching him.

"Who the fuck are you?" Roger mumbled in sluggish confusion.

"Ignoring the fact I should be asking  _you_ that...We live here," Freddie began as he leaned forward in his seat. "but to answer your question: I'm Freddie and that's John." He pointed at his buddy at the table who motioned a greeting shyly.

Roger sat up, running his hands through his hair stressfully. The dark circles under his eyes had softened a bit but were still quite prevalent and gave him the appearance of perpetual exhaustion, which didn't help his case of initial reactions. Roger couldn't remember the last time he slept through the night without a single nightmare, but it was a welcomed event.

He knew the difference between what he  _needed_ and  _deserved._ The thing's he needed including somewhere to drag himself to following a long night and something to eat that he could hold down for more than an hour. Things he deserved was a much shorter list, so much so that he couldn't come up with a single thing. He unquestionably didn't need to be taking up space in his friend's living room when he already has his own concerns, including two other roommates.

Even sitting in their living room, an uninvited and unwelcome intruder, was anxiety-inducing.

Brian interrupted their conversation when he wobbled down the stairs sleepily, his hand running across the wall with a dry noise accompanying him. Upon seeing Roger, he smiled softly and met looks with his two friends who were basically having a staring contest with the young man already.

"Rog, that's John and that's Fred. They don't bite, come on." Brian laughed gently when Roger looked like he'd rather saw off his arm than get up and interact with his friends. It was a rough time he was having, so it was understandable he wouldn't want to interact much with people he didn't really know. The young man lifted off of the couch carefully to avoid harming himself and followed Brian close behind with a blank expression on his face. He knew nothing about these men in front of him, but they most likely knew every detail about him. Brian must have told them what he'd done based on the lack of questions of why he was there in the first place.

"Are you guys hungry?" Brian asked as he sat in the kitchen preparing himself a cup of coffee. John and Freddie relaxed and began to give him the stories of what they'd been eating while he was gone, and none of it seemed close to nutritious.

Brian made them a plate of eggs and toast, but, unsurprisingly, the guest in the home didn't have much of an appetite. His head was hazy, and he could feel a migraine coming on, it was an effort just to sit down at the table and keep himself straight. Once the plate of food was set in front of him, he merely stared at it with hooded eyes while contemplating if he could simply leave the table and go back to bed without anyone noticing. The answer was clearly a no when he noticed the quiet conversation happening near him suddenly died down.

When Roger looked up, using his hand as a balance for his head, he was getting a concerned look from Brian who was in the middle of chewing his own share of food. The sympathy in his eyes was so intense, he could practically touch it.

"You haven't touched your food, Rog. You feeling okay?" He asked, his words soaked in the same pity that the blonde hated.

Roger sighed and looked back down at his food with hesitation. "Yeah, I'm just not really hungry."

"Have you taken your meds today?" 

He hadn't, but the painkillers sitting on the counter in the kitchen was now longed for. Roger shook his head gently in response.

"Well, after you eat you should take them. I don't want you getting ill if you take them without food."

Roger presented him a petty frown and scooped up a fork-full of eggs on the plate before shoveling them in his mouth, maintaining eye contact with Brian as he did. He didn't seem entertained by this and gave him an equally concerned look of guilt from pushing him. 

"Can I go outside?" Roger asked quietly as his own guilt began to boil over inside of him from being rude in a house that wasn't even his anymore.

"Uh, sure, why?" Brian asked in reply through a mouth full of toast. He felt like a parent with his teenage son, and it felt weird.

"For a smoke."

He nodded and dropped his gaze as Roger stood wearily and used the furniture around him as leverage before picking up his backpack and taking himself outside, shutting the door as gently as he could behind him on the way out.

Roger pulled out his pack of ever-depleting cigarettes once he sat down on the small pair of stairs, removing one swiftly and placing it in his mouth before lighting it. His nerves were still on the frits but once he was outside in the cooler weather and silence, it helped him and his accompanying migraine calm down a bit. It wasn't that he was unhappy with his living situation, he was grateful for it in fact. It was only the way he felt he didn't deserve being treated with such kindness that was bothering him.

Brian and his friends clearly cared about him enough to let him crash on their couch and needed to see him become healthier, but he knew that it would be a sore disappointment when he never would. The depression he'd been dealing with by attending parties, binge drinking, and doing drugs had resulted in attempting to do something quite serious and he should be a complete wreck by now. However, he felt empty. There were no emotions inside of him besides loneliness and the occasional anger that would boil over with grand urgency when even one thing went wrong. Throwing tantrums you couldn't control into your twenties was humiliating enough but also being the sad-sack of the group was the icing on the depressing cake.

Roger thought about how he'd love to be that man he used to be again when he was a teenager but soon became aware he had no idea who that was, or how he acted. How did he react to things when it didn't go his way? What would he have to say to his current self? It was all too overwhelming to think of as he pondered over the ideas.

The same man who'd talk for hours and do reckless things in the name of experience and enjoyment of it all was the same who would later allow strangers on LSD to use him as a human ashtray. He just wasn't the same, and he knew of the hard reality that he would most likely never be the same. The gravity of what he'd done that Saturday night truly hadn't sunk in quite yet, even close to three weeks later.

The men inside had long since finished their breakfasts and turned to the couch, which was now back to a normal couch as Roger wasn't sleeping or taking a nap. Brian folded the blankets and moved his pillow for him as he didn't want to bother the young man. They kept a steady conversation going in an attempt not to mention the elephant in the room, but soon the conversation died down as Brian became increasingly concerned. Freddie was the one who exited the home to join the blonde, making sure to close the door behind him when he left without a word.

He sat down next to him, to Roger's surprise as he was expecting Brian, and put a hand out for a smoke.

"You smoke?" Roger questioned as he handed him a cigarette and lighting it for him. The answer was a resounding yes as Freddie took a long drag.

"How are you, dear?" The other man asked, leaning against a support beam.

Roger shrugged. "I'm fine, my head hurts." The migraine had traveled behind his eyes and he felt as if they were going to pop out of his head if he used them too much, therefore, he kept his gaze down to the stairs his legs were perched on.

"I'm not gonna run along and grab Brian for a therapy session, you can cut the shit and the ' _I'm fine'_ act. You've had a rough few weeks, and I'm here if you need to talk. So talk."

Roger was taken back by how blunt Brian's friend was, and respected it in a strange way. He clearly wasn't going to take no for an answer, and he sat back with a sigh. The blonde extinguished his smoke and immediately lit another one before he began. The feeling of the smoke filling his lungs calmed him down greatly and as he exhaled he felt his shaking hands become still for a moment.

"I'm just exhausted, man. I don't want Brian expecting all this shit about me, I'm just letting him down." The feeling of expelling his feeling to the man in front of him while he listened intently felt better than he'd thought it would and the mustached man urged him to continue with a flick of the wrist.

"I mean, it's not like I want to be sad all the time, it's just kind of there." Roger extended Freddie another smoke silently to which he accepted. "I don't have money to see a fuckin' shrink in an out-patient thing either, so what good am I just sitting in his living room all day doing nothing but bringing everyone down?"

"Why do you think you're going to bring us down, love?" He asked calmly as he took another long drag.

"I've seen the way you all looked at me like I'm made of glass or something a minute ago. I'm not gonna jump in front of a car if I go outside by myself."

Freddie scoffed with a smile. "I don't think you'd do that. Too messy, do something with class."

This got a smile out of both of them, and Freddie quickly stood, extending a hand down to his new friend that he kindly took. Once they were both up, Freddie didn't let go of him, instead, pulling him into a hug that he wasn't exactly expecting. He let out a light gasp at the impact.

"If you ever need to talk, come and get me. I'm always awake, just knock first so you don't get scarred for life." He pulled back with wide eyes and a grin. "God knows what I'm doing in there!"

Roger laughed, and Freddie laughed with him. This was the first time he saw the young man giggle, and it was just as lovely as Brian had described it so many times before. He could see traces of the Roger, full of life and love, from the stories he'd heard from his friend peeking through once he let his guard down a bit and opened up enough to smile and chuckle a bit. They both had only known each other for a few short minutes but they felt like they knew one another completely.

They walked inside together and when the blonde attempted to return to his spot on the couch, Freddie grabbed him by the arm suddenly and pulled him along - which wasn't exactly difficult as he was quite small and frail, a good gust of wind could presumably knock him down. The pair went to the fridge, Brian and John watching curiously from the couch, and Freddie handed his friend a beer with his usual charming, snaggletooth smile.

"You look like you could use a drink, correct?" The older man asked while Roger nodded. "Great, let's lets have one!"

"Um, Fred, we just had breakfast. I don't think it's time for a drink." Brian called from the living room. His voice was full of concern, but neither man in the kitchen seemed to care.

"It's five o' clock somewhere and all that, Brian my love. It's just a beer!"

As Roger was presumably a lightweight based on his size, the last thing Freddie was expecting was for him to begin chugging down his beer without stopping until he had downed the entire bottle. That's exactly what he did and once he was finished, he wiped his mouth with his wrist and handed out the glass, to which Freddie took. Just a beer my ass.

"Can I have another one?" Roger asked plainly while he caught his breath, his gaze fixed on the two six-pack's sitting inside of his fridge. He asked this as if everyone in the room wasn't incredibly impressed, and a maybe even a bit worried. 

Clearly, he didn't care about the time or the fact he'd just woken up not even an hour ago.

"I like him!" Freddie shouted, patting his friend on the shoulder while looking over to Brian, whose mouth was wide open in surprise. 

They made it over to the couch where the other two men took their own beers given to them, and in a short amount of time, Roger had drunk nearly three while the rest were still on their first. Brian would hate to embarrass him and therefore kept his comments to himself. Instead of chastising him for drinking too much he gave glares in a hint that he should slow down, but when Roger had finally begun to feel a bit drunk it was clear he wasn't planning on cooling down.

It had turned from early morning to mid-evening in moments somehow, and the next time Roger looked up from the conversation they were all having, the sky had turned from a light blue to a dark purple.  

Roger's cheeks were a bright glowing red and he'd been quietly giggling every few moments when someone said something, even if it wasn't funny. Brian found immense delight in this and he could tell the depressed and angry Roger he'd been seeing for the past two weeks had crawled into himself and hidden away in favor for a bit happier version of himself even if it took the influence of alcohol.

They'd all been chatting away about nothing in particular when suddenly, Freddie mentioned off-handedly that he'd run into his ex-boyfriend the day before.

"-Paul is a bastard, and everyone knows it!" All three men raised their beers of various stages of emptiness and booed. "He copied my...Damn mustache." Freddie sat back thoughtfully, clearly frustrated by the fact that his ex had copied his mustache. Roger, in exchange, sat up after three failed attempts with a story of his own that he seemed eager to tell.

"I have this ex too," He was interrupted by a soft hiccup that jolted his small body. "he let me stay with him for a while, but then he broke my arm so I left. We had a cat- his name was Cat and he was also real cool."

Roger was still smiling as he told this story, and even held up his arm to show off a light scar on his forearm where the bone had split through the flesh as he spoke, the beer in his bottle tipping slightly and dripping down his arm. His friends grew quiet, the only noise being the television and his drunken giggles and accompanying burps or hiccups.

"Yah', the only thing I didn't  _really_  like about him was when he'd like... Hit me or-or yell at me. He had nice hair, though..."  He trailed off, his words beginning to slur heavily as he finished his fifth beer. Freddie had already moved the remaining three beers farther away from him when he'd noticed the way Brian attempted to subtly give Roger looks of disapproval that he didn't even acknowledge despite seeing them and understanding that his friend was asking him to cool it with the alcohol.

"He broke your arm?" John asked gently as he cradled his bottle between his thighs, though it was left hardly drank.

"Yeah but, I was kinda being a dick...I'd told em' I didn't wanna ya' know," He made a clumsy sexual motion with his hands. "but I shoulda' just done it, ya' know? So, ya' know, you live, ya' learn."

Once he was finished, he sat back on the couch in an awkward position that must have been cramping his neck and balanced his empty bottle on his chest that rose and fell gently which entertained him.

The rest had no idea what to say. They had just been told that their friend, two of them hardly knowing him at all besides stories and small encounters recently, was a victim of domestic abuse and had  _smiled_  while he told them as if it wasn't a big deal. The coldness running over each of them besides their drunkest friend was uncomfortable and suddenly none of them felt like continuing evenings festivities.

"I think I'm drunk," Said Freddie, who was quite sober. "I'm gonna head to bed. Deaky?" He pointed to his friend who also sat up and declared he was also tired as a gateway to leave before something worse happened. Brian remained on the couch, however, watching his friend thoughtfully.

Freddie passed by Brian and pat him on the shoulder gently, whispering, " _If you need to talk, just knock._ " before heading up to his room with John trailing close behind him. 

Brian took a seat next to Roger, who was only growing drunker as the alcohol caught up to his system as he'd drank them quite quickly, and ran his hand over his thigh in sympathy. Roger didn't mind and simply looked up at his friend before bouncing up to his feet that pulled his friend's hand off of him.

"I'm hungry. Can you make me something?" He asked with a squint.

This was the first time he'd asked for food without being coaxed into it, and it was reassuring he'd admitted to being hungry but also worrying given the situation and the tale he'd just told in front of them.

Brian was more than happy to cook him something and threw together some sort of tortilla wrap with cheese and tomatoes that Roger took as if he was handing over the secret to immortality. He began to eat it right in front of him, his drooping eyes now focused and wide on his meal. Brian shuffled him over to the edge of the sink so he wouldn't make such a mess and watched him carefully while he munched away happily. 

Once he was finished, Roger laid down on the couch while watching the TV without a word. Brian sat with him and watched as he smiled, laughed, or hiccuped with a smirk on his face. He loved seeing him this festive, and it felt like the old days where they'd sit together on the couch rotting their brains with too much TV and junk food for hours on end, more often than not ending the day in each other's arms sleeping before the sun went down. 

"That story you told earlier...Was it true?" Brian asked suddenly in hopes that it was a drunken thought instead of his reality. When Roger nodded indifferently, looking back to the TV, he felt a shiver go down his spine. 

Someone had broken Roger's arm because he didn't want to have sex, and he believed this was typical behavior when you say no to something. It was heartbreaking. He looked back down at the blonde who'd been slowly beginning to nod off where he laid and suddenly pulled him into a hug, waking him up. He wasn't happy about it and grumbled with his face pressed against his friend's torso.

"I'll never treat you like that, Rog," Brian told him, Roger's face pressed against his chest while his arms encased his head and shoulders. "I'll make sure no one ever does that to you again."

Roger struggled him away with a small laugh and crossed his arms. "It's not that big offa' deal, Brian." 

Brian wasn't sure what to say and only replied by giving him a gentle squeeze on the hand. He got up and went to wash his friend's plate and when he returned to say goodnight him, he was already slumped over asleep. Now that he was resting he figured this was the only opportunity he had to be completely honest with him. Brian bent down behind the couch and ran his hands through Roger's hair, feeling him twitch under his fingertips occasionally.

"I need you to know...I still love you, and I never really stopped." He smirked when he made a faint noise in his sleep. "I wish I could have given you a better life, and I'm sorry for that. You're never a burden on me, or anyone else and I'm lucky to have you with me right now."

Brian sat up and sat in the reclining chair in the corner of the room, making himself comfortable before mumbling, "Goodnight, Rog."

Roger, still sleeping, murmured in return. "Uh huh...Yeah, goodnight..."

He stayed up as late as he could simply watching the way his friend slept or occasionally rubbed his face against the fluffy blankets pleasantly and mumbled gibberish to himself.

It really was something special he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet yall weren't expecting that! fred, john, and bri sure werent lmao. this is really where the fic picks up so i hope yall love these next few!! just gotta give me some time :)
> 
> dont worry- you'll be getting context for both the abusive relationship AND brian/rogers break up... be patient


	6. Glaciers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger thinks back on his abusive relationship. Brian and Roger have an argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the longest one SO FAR. Chapter 6 (WHICH IVE BEEN DYING TO PUBLISH) is over 11 thousand words!!! Its my favorite chapter so far and im so excited to share this chapter and the next one with yall because honestly, these two chapters are my absolute favorites of the whole series and its really where the story gets INTENSE.  
> Also I just learned from a website that counts my words that ive spent 60 hours writing this fic. hOLY SHIT. Ive worked so hard on it but i had no idea ive worked 60 hours. AND IM NOT EVEN DONE.  
> I really hope yall like this chapter!! Please leave a comment if you enjoy :)
> 
> NOTE:  
> please read the tags before continuing this fic, this chapter has a part speaking about domestic violence and multiple references to child abuse. be careful

 

 Brian, John, and Freddie had woken near eight-o'-clock. Roger was still sleeping pleasantly on the pull-out couch.

When it had become twelve o' clock, Brian poked him in the shoulder to see if he was alright, and only received a glance from his friend who then turned back on his face and presumably went back to sleep. Around one o' clock was when Brian sat next to him and gently eased him into getting up for the day and Roger eventually sat up and stayed up, though he wasn't pleased about it. He showed this by sitting on the couch with a blank and cold expression directed to the floor while attempting to restrain the urge to simply go back to bed.

Roger, once awake enough to be more alert, stood and stretched. He soon sat back down with a grunt of pain, grabbing his healing side before lifting his shirt. The bandage had begun to sink into the skin where the build-up of drainage and leaked blood had settled into the cotton, and Brian quickly aided him by smacking his hand away from the injury before he touched it with his bare hands.

"Hey! Don't touch that. You haven't even washed your hands. It's like you want an infection."

Roger rolled his eyes and placed his hands up in feigned innocence while Brian collected bandages and hand sanitizer. He sat next to the blonde, hands dripping in a liquid that smelled all too much like a hospital, and removed the bandage as carefully as he could.

Try as he might, the young man still winced while the cloth was peeled from his flesh. The wound looked much better than it had when he first was in the hospital, but it was beginning to leak.

Now interested, both John and Freddie joined them in the living room. Freddie seemed to be gruesomely interested in the injury while John had a look of poorly-hidden disgust on his face that Roger attempted to ignore. He knew the younger man meant nothing by his reaction, but he was also painfully aware of how disgusting his body must look.

"Okay, this is gonna hurt. You okay?" Brian asked without looking up from the wound he was currently holding an alcohol swab to.

"Just do it."

Brian did as he was told and began to wipe the area clean. The puss was collecting on the wet fabric but didn't seem to be leaking anymore which was a good sign of healing. Roger had his hands over his face and he was bent over his knees, jumping slightly at every swipe and small noise both men near him made as they observed. 

He  _knew_ they weren't trying to be mean but he simply felt awful. He was disgusting and they agreed. His wounds, bruises, and scars were more than enough proof of this. He felt awful. He could have cried if he wasn't in front of all these people, but he still felt tears stinging his eyes. He  _couldn't_ cry in front of them- _he_   _won't he won't he won't he wo-_

"Are you holding up?" Brian asked, cutting through his thoughts. 

Roger only nodded and attempted to blink back the tears. He was so lucky his face was covered, not only because he was beginning to cry but because he was completely flushed. The silence around him and pause on cleaning his wound let him know they were probably looking at each other in concern- he could see it now. Brian with that look he's always got on his face these days along with John and Freddie's grimaces. It was upsetting.

"Are you almost done?" Roger badgered thickly. He didn't mean to come off so strong but he had a bite in his tone that Brian paused at before continuing, gently this time.

He received no reply but soon a fresh bandage was being laid back down on his injury, covering the repulsive wound and therefore hiding his disfigurement. He looked up and rubbed his eyes, hoping no one would notice that he'd begun to cry. Of course, Brian, being a damn therapist, noticed and pressed a hand on his back as a way to comfort him. He moved away from the motion and excused himself to the bathroom without a word.

As soon as he was inside, he sat in front of the mirror ahead of him and examined his body. It was awful to even see. He hadn't looked in a mirror on purpose for weeks- even before his attempt. He was too ashamed. If he looked into the mirror it meant he'd see himself- he'd see his hair that was beginning to thin and fall out from anxiety, the way his eyes sunk into their sockets, his weak and boney arms, and he'd see himself which was the most disappointing thing out of all of them.

He slowly lifted his shirt to examine himself and he could have gagged at the sight. It was as bad as he'd expected- his back showed the ridges of his spine, his ribcage visible from the front, and his entire body was covered in bruises and scars. He once again felt tears fighting there way through and this time he allowed it to happen. His face was quickly consumed by salty tears as his fingertips grazed each individual bruise, rib, and curve of his very  _wrong_ very  _damaged_ and  _deformed_ body. He hated it.

The next thing he saw was the long and thick scar running down his arm. That was the ugliest of his injuries- he believes. It was a reminder he was flawed, a broken toy that was used for whatever his boyfriend felt like at the moment. 

He'd met Tim while at a party. He was drunk, on LSD laced with something that tasted a bit like sweets, and on a couch petting someone's dog that seemed to enjoy the company. In his hands was a dimly lit cigarette which he pulled to his lips, attempting to suck in the last smoke the stick had to offer before someone's hand was raising a lighter to the tip, saving his smoke.

"Thank you very much!" Roger grinned as the young man sat next to him. His long brown hair was tied into a ponytail behind his head and he seemed to be completely wasted- less than Roger but still significantly.

"You're welcome! I'm Tim, you're...?"

They both had to shout over the bass enhanced music but both managed to hear each other, which seemed to be a miracle as both were hardly aware where they were.

"I'm Roger. You busy?" Roger asked as Tim gave a devilish grin. 

"What did you have in mind?"

Only a moment later they were racing (as quickly as they could for two incredibly intoxicated twenty-year-olds) up to an unoccupied bedroom. Neither seemed to be aware who's home they were in but neither cared. As soon as they were in a bedroom not already crawling in passed out drunks, junkies, and people having sex, they stripped their clothes. Tim took Roger by the wrists and pinned him to the wall roughly while the blonde licked a stripe down his neck and moaned in anticipation.

In hindsight, as soon as Tim placed his hand on Roger's throat he should have left the bedroom and never looked back. It couldn't have been his fault- he was being held down and his windpipe was blocked. But the thought still lingers in his mind three years later. If he'd been strong enough to fight back- maybe even let Tim know he wasn't enjoying himself, he would have stopped. 

The morning after that night, Roger's head pounded and his entire body was covered in hickeys and bruises. He nearly forgot what had happened but as soon as he saw Tim laying next to him, his hand running through his hair while he searched through his phone, he smiled. The brunette seemed to recognize this and smiled back as he ran his fingers over the many hickeys he'd left on his porcelain skin.

"You know what these are?" Tim asked gently.

"Hm?"

"Proof of purchase..."

Roger wasn't sure why, but he smiled. After years of thought, he realized it was because it was he felt as if he was loved and belonged to someone again. He wasn't aware it was a literal meaning though- he  _literally_ belonged to Tim, and soon they were living together in someone else's home after Tim told Roger he'd found them somewhere to stay.

Up until that moment, he'd been living in an alleyway or sleeping where he wouldn't be shot if he stayed for too long. Of course, he accepted Tim's offer- they loved each other.

Tim took care of him in any way he could; getting him food, smokes, alcohol, and any other item he wanted. More often than not they'd end the night either drunk or high, sometimes both, and wrapped in each other's arms. Roger knew he had a bit of a temper but he understood because he also did but he more often than not didn't allow it to show as his partner did. ' _Blowing off steam'_ is what Roger would call it when he'd be dragged through the hallway by his hair after talking back or doing something wrong in his boyfriend's eyes. 

When you disobey, you get punished. He'd known that since he was a kid when his father would treat him similarly. His punishments mostly revolved around hitting or hair pulling- nothing he couldn't handle as he was always assured by Tim that this was what was best for him. He'd misbehaved, and therefore he was being beaten back into shape. Roger always knew afterward, while Tim was cleaning his wounds and receiving kisses, that he deserved it. What he never did understand is why it hurt so much if this was love.

The night his arm was broken he was sitting in ~~his~~ Tim's living room. The couch had begun to mold from exposure to the elements as it rested in front of a cracked and broken window. They'd attempted to conceal it with a trash bag but the bag always got loose, and therefore it was freezing inside of the home where Roger sat in a lawn chair wearing a sweater and nursing a bottle of sipped on watermelon vodka between his thighs.

It was near midnight and he was awaiting the arrival of his boyfriend. He'd left to a party which Roger wasn't allowed to come to. He was told it was because it would be too much on his mental health as the blonde had been down lately, but he was also told it was his own fault he was so unhappy which Roger understood. He was choosing to be sad, he would be better soon.

His drink, an entire bottle of alcohol, had been nearly finished by the time Tim arrived home. By the looks of it, he was just as drunk as Roger was but, in reality, he'd hardly swallowed a drop.

"Hey baby," Tim called out as Roger stood wearily, attempting not to fall flat on his face. His fingers were still wrapped around the neck of the bottle by the time his partner made his way over and scooped him into a hug. 

"I thought...You weren't gonna come home." Roger mumbled. His words were heavily slurred and slightly concerning how slow they were coming out of his mouth.

"Well, you thought wrong, Roggie. How 'bout we sit down?"

Roger did as he was asked and sat down, back in the lawn chair. Tim sat in front of him and began to unravel his sweater above his head, therefore, exposing his skin to the chilly weather. He smiled drunkenly and set his bottle down. The sweat from his hands left residue on the neck. He quickly pulled his sweater back down and lazily gave Tim a kiss on the cheek, remaining there until the brunette pulled away looking less than pleased.

"It's so cold, Tim. I don't wanna take off my sweater. Aren't you cold?" 

"No, I'm fine. Let's go to the bedroom."

Roger frowned. "Baby...Tim...I don't wanna do anything right now. I'm really drunk, let's just go to the room and smoke. We-we can you know, share a bowl."

Tim placed his hands on his boyfriend's arm and gently ran his fingertips across the skin before his grip tightened ever so slightly, so much that he hardly felt it. That should have been his first warning.

"Come on, Rog."

"Tim- I'm drunk. I-I don't even think I can walk right now."

"I guess we'll find out then?"

He was pulled from his seat and guided by his forearm. He could walk, in fact, but just barely. The world felt wrong and upside down as he stumbled behind Tim who was walking all too fast for his liking. He jerked back on his arm and gripped the wall for support, breathing heavily as he attempted to ground himself. His partner attempted to take him by the arm again but he shrugged his grasp off of him with a small grunt.

"Roger. I said come here." Tim demanded. His tone shot a chill down Roger's entire body. He wanted to move but he felt like he was glued to the wall.

Before he could move, his arm was being violently grabbed and twisted backward. He felt like the bone was going to burst if he placed any more pressure, and in response, he whined in anguish. His clear distress wasn't anything for his partner to worry about as he was dragged towards the stairs.

In a move he now regards as stupid, Roger pushed back and stumbled to the floor. At first, he didn't notice the way the bone had exploded right through the surface of his flesh and the blood ran down his arm but as he looked down, the numbness the alcohol gave him quickly faded and the torturous pain set in.

"I told you, and you didn't listen. See what you did?" Tim chastised as Roger slammed a hand over his mouth to cover his cries of pain. He knew if he made a sound, Tim would only further his punishment. "Get up." Roger got up. "Go- I don't want to see you again until your arm is fixed. Make sure they know what you did and how you fucked up your own arm like that, Roger."

So Roger did. He was pushed outside of his home into the freezing cold only wearing a loose sweater and baggy boxers that seemed to become larger on his thin frame as the days went on. His feet were bare and he knew if he didn't rush, he wouldn't be returning home.

By the time he arrived at the hospital, the blood had dried and his lips were blue. He collapsed in the warmth of the waiting room and spread his good arm out on the tiles, begging for someone to fix him. He was still incredibly drunk but he was sober enough to see a group of doctors attempting to ask him what had happened, how much blood he thinks he lost, and how much he'd drank. What he didn't remember was passing out after mumbling something about this being his punishment.

The next time he was awake he was in a hospital room, the sun shining lovingly through the windows and his arm wrapped in a cast decorated with photos of cartoon cars. He was, later on, told he demanded he had the cartoon cars over a plain color as most adults choose, and none of the doctors were going to dispute against a twenty-year-old who was higher than a kite on morphine and crying about what went on his cast.

What he also didn't remember was telling everyone within earshot every awful thing Tim had ever done to him. Every doctor, nurse, and therapist that came to visit him was told about how he was abused. He told them over and over it was  _his_ fault, that Tim didn't do anything wrong but even in the cold light of day he was beginning to suspect he was the victim all along. The months of ~~abuse~~  love he had experienced were simply a case of domestic violence. 

When the words 'Domestic violence' slid past his ears, he broke. He had never wanted to admit it could be the case. Tim loved him, and he loved Tim, so why was he so abu- mean? The doctors asked him if he had somewhere to go, and he wanted to lie and say he did but the truth was he had nowhere else to go. If he was sent back to the streets he knew he would freeze to death, so in an act of child-like innocence and honesty, he said no. 

It was the best choice he ever made as he was allowed to stay in a homeless shelter that didn't have groups of meth addicts ready to pickpocket what little items you had while you slept. He was given his own bed in his own separate section where the males in his age group stayed, three meals a day including little snacks here and there left around in case someone was hungry in between meals, and he was no longer surrounded by the fear of people he had just met overdosing in front of him. 

The lasting scar of his time spent with Tim never really faded, even now at the age of twenty-three as he stood in front of the mirror inspecting the long, hideous scar running down his arm from his time with his past lover. He sometimes still wonders what happened to Tim. He hopes he's doing well. After all, was it actually abuse if he deserved the pain he went through? The question still haunts him. He still wonders if he did the right thing in the end when he told the police Tim's full name and address. He still wonders if he simply wasn't overreacting. 

A knock on the door interrupted his examination of his own body. He remains silent and for a moment he hoped whoever it was would simply leave him alone as if he was never there and no one saw where he'd gone.

"Rog?" Brian's voice was soft and smooth. "Are you alright, mate?"

He sighed. It would be all too visible he had been crying but he couldn't stay there forever. When he looked back into the mirror, he was completely pale and he was now noticing how hard it was becoming to breathe. 

"I'm fine," Roger called out from inside of the bathroom but his voice was thick, and shaking. Brian knocked once more and the young man finally opened the bathroom only to find himself too weak to stand any longer and fell into Brian's arms with a choked sob.

Brian caught him as soon as he saw how pale he'd become, and stood still while he cried. The name Tim was mentioned in his frantic sobbing, but he wasn't able to understand him entirely. He ran his hands through his friend's blonde hair gently, shushing him gently as he cried. 

"I-I'm so sorry." Roger cried while remaining pressed against Brian's chest. "I-"

"It's okay. You're fine. Let it out." 

So he did. He felt safe in his arms. When John and Freddie circled them and joined in on the hug, he grinned.

                 

 

* * *

 

After he'd cooled down a bit they all sat on the sofa quietly. A small bowl of fruit appeared next to him and he picked at it slowly, afraid he was being watched by the other men somehow despite them not looking at him. Brian had asked if he wanted to talk about what had happened in the bathroom, as he was in there quite a while by the way John and Freddie suddenly had full mugs of coffee in their hands. He said he didn't. He was fine, just a bit shook up from the memories coming back to him so suddenly.

His attention was brought to Brian, who was now sitting spread out on the couch with his legs impossibly wide and taking up most of the room, while his bowl of fruit diminished. He was wearing basketball shorts that showed off his long limbs, a shirt with the sleeves cut off, and sneakers. It was an unusual outfit and if he felt well enough he would have laughed.

"What're you wearing?" Roger asked through a mouthful of peaches. Brian looked up, looked down at himself, and looked back up with a shrug.

"I was gonna go on a run earlier." 

He began to untie his shoelace while looking at his friend. 

"Why didn't you go?"

"Well, I needed to make sure you were alright, Rog."

Roger felt guilt shoot through him. He should have thought about Brian before he went into the bathroom to loathe in his own self-pity. He put his hands up to stop his friend from untying his shoes and licked his spoon clean with his mouth. 

"Wait, you don't have to stay here. You can go on your run." 

Brian smiled a bit. "It's really alright. I can do it another day."

"Well..." Roger thought about it for a moment. "What if I went with you?"

"I suppose you could do that. I'll go see if I have anything that'll fit you." With that, Brian was up to the stairs to find something that may fit his friend. Now that they were alone, Freddie crawled over to his edge of the couch and sat impossibly close with a grin that made the blonde slightly uncomfortable.

"Yes?" Roger asked before Freddie placed his hand on his hand.

"It's hot out- let me put that hair up." Freddie cooed while he pulled a hair tie from his wrist he usually had on for John to use whenever he didn't feel like having his hair get into his food while he ate.

Roger wanted to deny the offer- he didn't want his new friends to be as disgusted with him as Brian had attempted not to be while in the hospital when he combed out his hair. He didn't think he could handle the judgment from seeing and possibly feeling the missing spots, especially not when he'd already had enough of that today. He couldn't find an excuse good enough, so he simply shook his head. He could feel his face flush when Freddie gave him a sympathetic smile that was mixed with curiosity.

"Oh come on my love. I've wanted to touch that beautiful hair since you arrived- probably since Brian told us about you."

When did Brian mention him? It must have been when he jumped from the bridge, he couldn't have just left without an explanation. "Brian...Told you about me? What- What did he say?"

"Oh, he talked about you all the time before you...He talked about how amazing of a boyfriend you were, and we even had photos of you on the walls for a little while in college. Your hair was shorter then." Freddie told him while stretching the hair band around his fingers in a habit. As he spoke, Roger flushed a pink and he couldn't help but smile just a little.

"Now are you gonna let me brush that hair or what?" Freddie asked, pulling the blonde out of his own thoughts. Brian told them about him. The good things too. It was relieving. The answer wasn't going to be a  _no_ by the way Freddie stood and grabbed a hairbrush from his bathroom around the corner of the living room before returning and holding it up with a wave. 

Roger caved and nodded, turning his back to Freddie so he could work the brush through. His hands shook and his face drained of color when he took the first swipe through the long blonde hair that needed a wash. He could feel the strands coming out, but not as much as it had in the past, as he stroked through. Every few moments the older man would remove the hair from the brush before placing it on the table near them, but he didn't see any disgust in his face when he turned around for a moment to catch a glimpse of his expression.

"You have the  _most_ beautiful hair." He brushed upward and smoothed the front to the back while cupping the hair into the back. "You must let me braid it some time."

Roger could feel a slight smile twitching on his lips as he looked down to his hands. "R-really? You mean that?"

"Of course I do, darling. It's gorgeous if I had hair like this I'd never stop playing with it."

When his ponytail was high on his head he turned around and both John and Freddie grinned with happiness at the sight of Roger also smiling. He touched the top of his head, running his fingers through the smoothed hair and didn't even feel a hint of guilt as he brushed over the spots where the hair was growing back.

"Freddie braids me and Brian's hair all the time. One time he straightened Brian's, and when he took a shower his entire head was completely firm because it had curled up again so much. It looked ridiculous. He's a poodle." John laughed and so did the other two as he recalled the story.

"I plan on being a hairdresser. It's the gayest thing I could come up with, you see." Freddie grinned, pulling his hands out to his sides flirtatiously as he tilted his head back to add drama. "Or maybe it's because I enjoy it- but who's to say?"

"I'm an engineer," John mumbled as he chewed on a slice of cheese. He mentioned it as if it wasn't incredibly impressive.

"You're an engineer? That's really incredible, Deaky." Roger smiled at him and received one in return. He seemed to be shy about his practice, but the compliment was welcomed.

"And you?" Freddie asked as he turned back to Roger.

He'd never planned on doing anything, really. As a child, he wanted to be a dentist but his parents told him it was a laughable fantasy and it wouldn't be accepted. Instead, he worked at restaurants and animal shelters which his family still didn't approve of but it was better than nothing. Past the point of age twenty, he didn't exactly plan ahead as he believed he would be buried by the age of twenty-two. Roger didn't answer, and luckily Brian stumbled down the stairs just in time to excuse him from the conversation.

"This is the smallest thing I could find." Brian grinned in guilt as he held out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with a cat printed on the front and a cartoon tail in the back. Roger stood and took both items, nodding reluctantly while suppressing his embarrassment.

"Thanks, Bri. I love it..." He mumbled with a smile. Brian nodded and ran a finger through his ponytail, looking to Freddie who smiled in pride at his work.

"I like this, you should put your hair up more often. You look nice."

With a nod, Roger went into the bathroom to change. He wasn't looking forward to wearing this ridiculous cat shirt but it did look comfortable. Once he was changed he exited and raised his arms to show off which everyone in the room agreed silently to act as if he was a model and began to cheer and whistle for him. He was too embarrassed by the extra attention to do any fancy moves so he sat there while his cheeks and ears became redder until they finally stopped.

"Okay, we ready now? Our fashion show over?" Roger questioned while running his hand over his arm. Brian joined him in standing and clapped him on the back before waving goodbye to his friends who wished them luck. 

Once they were heading out, the weather was slightly warmer than it had been in previous days. The sun was beginning to look a bit cloudy but the sun still shined through the grey which caused a hazy effect on the world around them. Roger hadn't been outside the house since arriving and leaving the hospital, so this was a nice change of pace. The sun on his face along with the fresh air was relaxing and he was enjoying his time as they both walked.

"Did Fred make you let him do your hair?" Brian asked with a loving grin as he ran his fingers through the collection of greasy hair pulled into the back.

"Well- I did give him permission. He told me he likes my hair a lot. He liked it when it was short." Roger said, letting Brian know he'd been alerted on his gossip. The brunette flushed and he nodded with wide eyes.

"Ah, so Freddie told you about that, huh?" 

Roger grinned from ear to ear and jabbed him in the ribs with a boney elbow. "He sure did. Sounds like you missed me, hm?'

His friend rolled his eyes as they cornered a gas station. Time had slipped from both of them and they must have walked a good amount of time to be nearing the shop. It was a new building and Roger didn't recognize it from back when he was living in the home, but Brian turned to approach it upon seeing it.

"You want something to drink? See if they have those sodas you love?"

Roger thought it over. His first thought was to deny his friend the favor and say he wasn't thirsty, but he hated the way Brian looked at him when he denied food or drink. He shrugged, and Brian ran with it as he pulled him along by the elbow.

The station was mostly empty but it smelled like hot dogs and sweets-a mix both men were realizing did not go together. Brian skipped the isles and went straight for the drinks section while Roger followed behind slowly, observing his surroundings. The line of refrigerated drinks was long and sort of stressful looking to the eyes as there was just so many options to choose from. Brian quickly scanned over the isles with a purpose but came up short on the Japanese sodas.

"Just get whatever else you'd like, Rog," Brian told him as he picked out a type of fruity water. He nodded silently again and began to look at his options by price. He hated the idea of wasting Brian's money on something too expensive, but unfortunately, Brian noticed this and also noticed Roger's longer look at a type of coffee drink in a can. He took it out for the blonde and handed it to him which he took quietly as his cheeks changed to light pink. He didn't need it, but Brian was already in line. He would have been fine with water.

Once Roger and Brian had their drinks paid for, they walked outside and sat on the curb where the shade covered them. Sipping their respective drinks, they enjoyed each others company in the silence of the sun and wind. There was a radio above their head pumping out straight-to-radio hits neither of them knew the names of, but it wasn't bad.

"So, how are you, Rog?" Brian cut through the silence. Roger nodded in reply.

"I'm okay. Thanks for the drink."

"I mean...You know you can talk to me about anything right? Even about what we talked about last night?" 

Roger glared at him with his can to his mouth, his brow furrowing. "What  _about_ last night, Brian?" He was now regretting drinking so much so quickly, he could hardly remember anything past his third beer. He's obviously become too much of a lightweight if only a few brews could knock him out.

Brian suddenly felt like crawling into himself and dying. He wishes he'd never opened his stupid mouth. He brought his drink to his mouth to distract the blonde before clearing his throat at the glare he was receiving. "Nothing, you just drank a lot. Kind of worried me."

Roger visibly deflated from the tension in his back he wasn't aware he was holding in. Once he was slumped back down he felt the weight lift from his rib cage that had begun to strain. "Oh. Yeah, I'm good. It's just one of my talents." He grinned in pride. He was just thankful he hadn't (according to his knowledge) admitted anything he would regret.

"So, what else? Are your ribs okay? Any pain?" 

"I'm good, Bri."

"What about...You know, earlier today? You wanna talk about that since Fred and Deaky aren't around? You seemed really upset."

The realization he was being babied again slowly dawned over Roger and he uncomfortably shifted against the rubble curb. He now regretted coming with Brian- he was only brought along to be asked about himself and not as something fun to do. He must have been influenced into asking to come and now it was clear. Brian didn't want to be with him, he just wanted to make sure he wouldn't be cleaning up bits of a skull in the morning. He felt selfish for thinking these things but it still churned his gut.

"Brian, can I go hom- to your house?" He asked thickly. Avoiding eye contact was hard when the brunette tried desperately to get him to look.

"Uh, yeah, Rog. You feeling alright?"

"I just...I have a headache. It's hot."

Brian had no complaints but the worry in the back of his mind remained. He couldn't corner Roger and make him talk, he couldn't make him do anything. Forcing him into admitting he wasn't okay was like herding cats. Their way back was quiet and awkward. When they walked through the door it was worse, because of the fact both Freddie and John were in the kitchen arguing about a broken cup laying in the middle of the room. Roger visibly tensed at this and stared on as they argued, Brian approaching to join the conversation which didn't help.

"I told him not to put it at the edge of the cupboard and he's blaming me!" John shouted at Brian now.

"I told you there wasn't room, John. I told you and you didn't care. We have a billion coffee mugs you know that?"

"And who's fault is that?"

Both looked at the brunette who's eyes widened before putting his hands up. "Hey, I'm just here to clean up the mess this isn't my fight." He then wandered off to find a broom and dustpan while they continued to argue.

What he failed to notice was Roger staring at the impending doom right unraveling in front of him in the kitchen from the living room. He hated confrontation and arguments, he was never good at keeping up during a fight and would always end up crying. When he was a child he was incredibly sensitive and even the slightest fight between his parents would set him into a fit of tears which only put him in trouble for being so childish.

He couldn't look away even when he felt tears welling in his eyes. He'd had such an exhausting day already; first with being ridiculed with judgemental stares followed by being a burden on Brian on his walk finally this. Roger forced himself to look away as the argument got even more heated and the tears he was fighting back became overwhelming and began to run down his face. Brian walked past him and began to clean the glass with a noise that felt like it was piercing his brain.

"See? Now Brian has to clean it up." Someone said. 

"That isn't my fault! He's doing it willingly!"

"Oh my god are you two a married couple? It's a damn coffee mug. We have a million."

"And that would be your fault. You realize you don't have to buy every mug that has a slogan on it, yeah?"

"Listen, you said you liked my gifts."

"We also say we like your vegetarian cooking, Brian! We are not rabbits!"

"Oh my god, this again."

Roger felt his emotions boiling over quickly, and over something so ridiculous. He felt ashamed this could possibly upset him. How low could he sink before he was completely drowned in his own pathetic anxieties? He quickly sat up and grabbed his backpack, roughly going through it before finding his pack of smokes and practically running out the front door. Only when the door slammed shut did they notice his absence, but none knew what his problem was.

"He's okay, right?" John asked with concern. Brian shrugged as he scraped up the rest of the glass.

"I'll check on him in a minute. He was upset on our walk, I think he realized he told us about...You know his arm."

"Oh my...Poor thing." Freddie frowned as he crossed his arms. 

Both men quietly discussed the cup further, now simmering down enough to not just yell their opinions at each other. Outside, Roger was holding a shaking hand to his forehead and another to his lips with the cigarette tucked between his fingers. He felt ridiculous and completely pathetic being so upset over a small argument- even more ridiculous he'd begun crying and hadn't stopped quite yet, even when he heard the front door opening and closing behind him. 

He wanted to somehow defy the laws of nature by curling into himself and vanishing from whoever was behind him, especially when he felt a gentle hand lay on his shoulder and pull his hair back from where he'd undone his ponytail. Brian sat next to him and wrapped an arm around his waist lovingly. He stayed silent, the only sounds surrounding them being the cars zooming past them on the street and quiet hiccups from Roger's crying paired with the occasional sniffle.

"I feel fucking stupid," Roger admitted with tears running down his cheeks that he failed to swipe away. "I'm not...Twelve."

"What's going on, Rog? You were upset on our walk too. Was it just...A bit much?"

Roger hesitated for a moment while he attempted to wipe away the tears that continued to flow freely. "I hate fights. I can't stand people fighting near me. I just...Needed a break."

Brian now understood. He should have thought about this before somewhat joining in on the argument. He had been Roger's friend since high school and he was a first-hand witness to his abusive childhood- seeing the way he'd come to class in long sleeves on an eighty-degree day to hide bruises and marks from his father using him as a punching bag. When times got tough he'd always allow Roger to stay at his house. He should have remembered the way he would break down and hide inside of himself when an argument broke out near them, especially when they were fourteen and Roger came to his door sobbing because he was scolded lightly and couldn't handle it.

"Oh fuck, I'm so sorry. I completely forgot." Brian mumbled apologetically while shaking his head. He ran a hand across Roger's back in sympathy and he seemed to lean into the touch for comfort.

"It's alright. I just...I needed to chill. Come out here for a smoke."

"I'll let them know about the fighting. They hardly do it but Fred can be a bit aggressive." He smiled but Roger looked over at him nervously.

"Don't tell them about...You know, my childhood. I don't want them to know." Roger seemed genuinely nervous at the thought. Brian frowned.

"I wasn't going to- it's nothing to be ashamed of, Rog. It wasn't your fault. You know that right?"

He seemed to distance himself now as he looked away from the brunette. "I know it's just I don't want them to see me differently. I'm sure they already think I'm mad." 

Brian placed a hand on his shoulder and swayed him slightly. His tears had mostly dried but the feeling on his shoulder was almost enough to break him down again, he missed loving physical attention. "I'd never tell them anything you aren't comfortable with, yeah? They don't see you like that, Roger. At all. They really like you."

Roger didn't reply to this. He only shook his head and tossed his cigarette on to the pavement across from them and stood up to make his way back inside.

The rest of the day was spent quietly, they left Roger alone as he didn't seem like he was in the mood to talk and the only time he got up was to make himself tea after asking permission. He appreciated the silence, feeling more at peace with the world when everyone in the room was talking in whispers and not forcing him into the conversation. Of course, they included him in their talks about what was on the television which he did appreciate but only gave small replies to. They could see he was tired and therefore decided to not bring him in or force him to speak.

Throughout their lazy afternoon, Brian would bring Roger small snacks and drinks while getting his own. He wasn't hungry himself, but he knew Roger had to be as he hadn't eaten since his fruit bowl and he also knew he wouldn't eat unless he ate with him. Soft strokes here and there were given to the blonde, and at one point Brian's hand found itself flowing within the long hair on his friend who was more than happy to be pet and even began to fall asleep under the comforting touches.

It was late so when Roger had begun to nod off from being comfortable, Brian pulled a blanket over him and figured he'd rather let him sleep than move him to pull out the bed. Freddie and John shuffled to their rooms to do whatever they wanted while Brian stood behind and made sure Roger was really asleep before he went off to his own room for some rest.

He slept through most of the night but the entire day's events were weighing heavily on his psyche and soon he was waking covered in sweat, gasping for air. Roger looked around the room and found himself still safely settled in Brian's home- not Tim's or his childhood home. He wasn't being dragged down an endless hallway by his hair, and he wasn't being punished for playing with the neighbor's dog. He was safe enough to catch a breath.

He stumbled to his phone that was inside of his backpack, left to be unused and forgotten, and checked the time. It nearing two o' clock in the morning. He sighed and pulled his smokes from the front pocket before putting on his shoes and going outside as quietly as possible. At first, he only stood in front of the door but after a few minutes of quietly observing the hazy nighttime sky, he wandered out to the edge of the driveway and then walked down the street. He didn't realize he'd begun to walk until his feet began to take him somewhere- though of course, he didn't mind. 

The nighttime air was chilling and the hair on his arms stood straight as he walked. He wished he'd picked up his coat on the way out but the thought of turning around now was a bit exhausting. In his thoughts he soon found himself rounding the corner to the gas station him and Brian had visited earlier as it was the only place he knew how to walk to without assistance. Upon approaching it he entered and found the air inside of the station much colder than the weather outside.

Two men were standing by the cash register having a discussion with the cashier who seemed to be enjoying the topic of conversation. Roger rounded a corner and searched through an aisle full of sweets, though he was now realizing he hadn't any money to spend on something like candies. He thought his options over before deciding to leave the store empty-handed only to return to the side of the building where the darkness cloaked him so the manager wouldn't seize him and tell him to leave the property without purchasing anything.

Another smoke made it to his lips and he felt more relaxed than he had in months under the cover of night by himself. No one knew where he was, and no one could find him. No one could interrupt his moment of peace. No thoughts of his depression or anxiety followed him, and for the first time in a while, he felt happy to be alive.

It was peaceful for once, and it made him wonder if he would like to stay up for the sunrise and make it back in time for breakfast. He could simply tell Brian, Freddie, and John that he'd gone for a walk and nothing more as to not worry them, though Roger believed that they wouldn't mind having him out of the house for a moment so they could put their guards down and not worry about waking up to a dead body in the morning.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed out leaning against the gas station wall, but not too long after he'd finished his first smoke he was beginning to doze off and he allowed himself to be taken by sleep while pulling his legs closer to his torso, and soon he was quietly sleeping.

Unfortunately, his nap hadn't lasted long and soon he was being woken once again by a car pulling into the gas station, the headlights blinding his groggy vision as he looked up and ran a hand over his eyes to regain some of his eyesight. The owner of the car was obviously dead set on blinding him as the man exited his car and walked towards the front of the store. What Roger didn't expect was two rough hands grabbing him and dragging him to their car.

"H-Hey! What the fuck are you doing?" He asked frantically. Once he was able to see well enough to make out a face he saw Brian, completely disheveled and still in his pajamas, who looked incredibly exhausted and infuriated. Roger broke off from Brian's grasp and made his way over to the passenger side by himself as he didn't want to be treated like he couldn't walk himself.

"What am  _I_ doing? What the fuck were you doing, Roger?!" Brian hissed as he slammed the car door and started the engine. "You just decided you wanted to leave and not tell anyone, then?"

"It was a walk, Brian."

Brian scoffed. "You could have  _told_ me you wanted to go on a walk," He pointed at the clock inside of his car that was illuminated in red. "Do you know it's three in the morning?"

"I can take care of myself, Brian, I'm not a fucking child." Roger glanced away from his friend in defeat, instead focusing his attention on a young woman on the telephone outside of the gas station. He had left around two AM, he really had no idea he'd allowed himself to rest his eyes for that long.

"Taking care of yourself isn't leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone. Taking care of yourself isn't jumping off of a goddamn bridge!"

As soon as the words left his mouth he wished he could shove them back in. Brian rested his forehead on the steering wheel and sighed deeply, not wanting to see the look on his friend's face at the moment. If he had looked, he would have seen Roger struggling to hold back his urge to punch his best friend in the jaw.

"You know? I never asked you to find me and take me home like some sick fucking cat." Roger countered with tears beginning to sting his eyes, though he refused to allow them to pass.

"I didn't find you!" Brian shouted in equal frustration. "I'm your emergency contact!"

Roger had begun to shake with anger now, and once he had begun to suddenly calm down it wasn't a reassuring sign. Instead, he exchanged shaking for heavy breathing and small choking noises as he attempted to find accurate words to portray his emotions and what he was thinking as they all seemed to scramble in his brain.

"You- You know what? I'm sorry I  _didn't_  miss, and I wish that umbrella would have gone right through me instead of snapping off!" He paused to take a quivering breath. "That way you wouldn't have wasted your gas coming to get me out of pity."

They both sat in silence.

The only words on their way home were when Brian told Roger, "Don't you ever say that to me again _."_  followed by more earsplitting silence.

Upon returning home, Roger settled on the sofa bed while Brian stalled in the stairway, idling until his friend glanced over. The hurt in his eyes, the blankness of his stare, was almost too much for Brian to handle.

"Rog?" He mumbled, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, Brian?"

"I'm really glad you missed."

 

* * *

 

 

After the argument, Roger didn't rest. He spent the rest of the night attempting to be silent as he cried and pondering if he should knock on Freddie's door so he could have someone to comfort him. Over multiple backs and forth attempts of going to his friend's door followed by returning to the couch now turned into a bed, he decided he would feel guilty waking him. He would need to deal with things on his own, even if his anxiety was beginning to boil over gradually.

It was only when the sun had risen that he had become aware of how late he'd stayed up, and learned it was too late to sleep now as John wandered downstairs noiselessly only to make himself a cup of coffee. It was almost disturbing how quietly he'd come down, and Roger hadn't noticed he was even there until he heard the youngest in the home take a glass mug and accidentally touch it to another glass mug, making a sound.

"Roger, are you awake?" John asked quietly from the kitchen.

"Yeah, John." 

"Do you want coffee...I'm making coffee...Do you want coffee?" Based on the way the young man spoke, he was either half asleep or amazingly awkward when near Roger by himself.

"Uh, yeah but you don't have to make me any, John," Roger replied, rising from the couch to get a look at his friend. His face was still puffy and red and it had to be obvious he had cried, but John ignored it.

John was wearing only boxers and a crop top with long white socks. His shoulder length hair was in a loose hair tie and still slightly damp from his shower, shown by the dark spots on his shirt from where his long brown hair fell over his shoulders.

"Thank god you said yes, I already made you one." John smiled before getting a furrowed brow from Roger. "I didn't wanna drink both in case you said no, I'd be up for weeks."

He was unusual, but Roger enjoyed it and joined him at the table for coffee. John wasn't a man of many words as shown by the way he could sit back and simply enjoy his cup of steaming coffee without anything to entertain him beside the peaceful silence. Roger was fine with this as he wasn't exactly in the mood to talk and simply enjoyed the silence with him.

"You been up all night?" John asked quietly to interrupt the stillness.

"Possibly, why?" Roger responded.

"I heard you crying and coming up and down the stairs."

The blonde's face went red before he quickly covered his mouth with his mug of coffee in embarrassment. He wasn't nearly as quiet as he'd thought and he felt the familiar shame return to his bones.

"It's fine, I wasn't asleep either," John said quickly as he saw his friend's humiliation.

"Did I keep you up? I'm sorry John I didn-" 

"I was on the phone with my girlfriend."

John smiled happily and set his cup down, facing Roger with his torso.

Roger returned the smile as much as he could. "I didn't know you have a girlfriend, that's great, man." 

In all honesty, Roger believed John and Freddie were a couple. They were often cuddling or hugging, compliments flowed freely along with loving touches or kisses on the cheek. It wouldn't have been surprising if they were a couple but it was warming to find they were just incredibly close friends.

The younger man at the table stood and placed his cup in the sink as Freddie sauntered down the stairs with a disgruntled mumble upon seeing how bright it was becoming outside. John shifted and struck his friend a smile, delivering a granola bar for Freddie, to which he took and gave the younger man a kiss on the forehead. 

"Thank you, love." Freddie cooed as he turned to see Roger sitting at the table and watching, cradling a cup of half-drunk coffee. "Hi, Rog. Up early?"

Roger nodded and the older man gave him a cheeky look of disbelief. It was becoming apparent that his attempts at keeping himself quiet while he cried were in vain and his face flushed even brighter.

The pair lingered for a moment longer before exiting the living room and wandering up to their respective rooms. Brian wouldn't wake until an hour after them, which left Roger drowsily wandering the home by himself. Eventually, he ended up in the backyard on the grass, a cigarette dangling from his fingers and sunglasses he'd found lying around to protect his eyes. It was a nice day, mostly clear skies that would be expected to turn into rain clouds and warm weather, but he wouldn't know this as he'd fallen asleep in the center of the lawn soon after laying down.

The grass wasn't exactly comfortable, but as he had pulled an all-nighter it was good enough for him. His sleeping was involuntary as it was too lovely outside not to rest your eyes for a moment, but when Brian saw the young man sprawled out in the backyard he was more than perplexed.

He approached Roger and pushed him in the shoulder with his foot but received no answer. Once again, he pushed him and this time, the blonde shot up with a sharp inhale. At first, Brian was sure he'd inadvertently thrown him into another panic attack, but he soon turned to look at his friend after lifting his glasses.

"Were you asleep? On the grass?" Brian asked with a smile oozing in guilt.

"No, I was just relaxing." He excused as he climbed to his feet, wiping the drool from his face and flicking the cigarette that had gone dull long ago out of his hand.

"Sure, Rog."

Brian wasn't convinced but he wasn't going to press the issue and get him worked up as he still felt guilty from the night before and what he'd said to Roger. He guided his friend back inside and they both sat down, John and Freddie already at the table withholding smiles while they ate their breakfast. They'd most likely been the ones to alert Brian of his new sleeping spot and sent him out to fetch him. It was humiliating all around.

Roger was exhausted and could hardly keep his head up, but in his drowsy thoughts, he was determined to prove to Brian that he hadn't stayed up all night or was even tired at all. 

Once Brian set down a plate of food in front of him he dug in as quickly as he could, but as he was still half-asleep and tired, it wasn't exactly quick and everyone at the table was well aware he was running on fumes. 

"Roger, are you okay?" Brian asked this in the considerate way he could manage without sounding harsh, but the way he spoke had an edge of irritation from the lack of concern for his own well-being.

"I'm fine, leave me alone." He complained as he pushed Brian's hand, that was reaching over in concern, away from him.

The entire room went silent until Freddie picked his silverware and plate, shuffling towards the sink. "Someone's cranky in the morning." He mumbled, receiving a glare from Roger that was almost pathetic in how tired and helpless he looked.

Once Roger had eaten most of the meal he propped his head into his palm to support his head. John and Brian were finished and therefore took their plates to the sink. It had only taken a moment to put their dishes away but while they were up from the table, they heard a thud only to turn and see Roger face down on the table with one hand still upright above his head. He had fallen asleep right then and there while they were gone, and hadn't even woken from the impact of his head colliding with the wooden table below him.

"He stayed up all night last night..." John blurted out to Brian who gave him a confused glance. "But you didn't hear it from me..."

John then made his way up the stairs as he didn't want to be present for the impending argument the two were about to have, leaving them alone in silence.

Brian approached Roger and gently grabbed him by the shoulders before receiving a few weak moans of disapproval from his friend who was clearly not conscious enough to struggle back from his grasp. They walked together, Brian practically dragging him as they went, up the stairs and to the older man's room where he sat the blonde on the bed and helped tuck him in.

"I can sleep on the couch...It's no big deal..." Roger mumbled quietly.

"It's fine, I'm not in bed anyhow." He answered.

Brian closed the curtains and went to exit the room when he suddenly heard his friend lift from the covers. He turned to see what he needed and was met with Roger, glassy eyes and nose turning red as he held back tears.

"Can you...Stay with me?" Roger asked apologetically. He knew he must have looked like the worlds biggest loser and even though he'd been hurt the night before, he would rather not be by himself at the moment as he was still quite upset.

Brian was taken back for a moment but shut the door and crawled on top of the sheets with his friend who looked up at him with a look of sadness before, just as surprising, he wrapped his arms around the curly haired man's thin torso and placed his head on his chest. 

He silently tucked himself under the covers and repositioned himself to give Roger a better angle and soon they were cuddling in bed together. Brian was the first to fall asleep; Roger was too cuddly and warm to resist and he had always been something of weakness to the older man. Every time Roger wanted to get his way when Brian was working all he'd have to do is lay on him or envelop his arms around his neck to get him to relax and become tired.

The blonde stayed up, waiting for Brian to sleep before he moved from the bed and sat in the middle of the room. He watched his dream for another ten breaths before placing a kiss on Brian's cheek, the older man moving in his sleep from the touch, and smiling. 

Roger would miss that smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOOH what could Roger be doing?! I guess you'll have to see ;)  
> just a note: when tim placed his hand on rogers throat it was NOT non-consesual sex, it was non-consensual choking. there was 0 non-consensual sexual touching only choking 
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed this chapter and tell me what you liked! I love the comments. This chapter was hella personal to me and I said this before but i cannot wait to upload chapter 6 its literally my favorite and its got almost 12k words and i worked so hard on it. Love u guys :) -charlie


	7. With A Little Help From My Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger decides he's become too much. The road to recovery is never easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very DRAMATIC CHAPTER!! WHOO! ive been ITCHING to post this chapter since i began it- and its the longest chapter so far with almost 12k words. hope yall enjoy since i left u on a cliffhanger ;)
> 
> ive been really sad lately and havent been able to do much besides try and stay alive tbh so thank you to everyone who was sweet enough to message me on twitter letting me know its okay to take my time <3
> 
> special shout out to olly for being the best

 

Brian opened his eyes slowly and inhaled deeply, the scent of Roger's body filling his senses.

He smiled and turned to his side before placing his hand out to touch his friend, but found nothing there besides a wrinkled mattress. Confused, he sat up and looked around the room. The bathroom door was open and the bedroom door was shut, which meant he had to be downstairs with John and Freddie. He had noticed the way they had begun to become closer, especially him and Freddie, and he absolutely cherished it. Freddie and Roger seemed to fit perfectly together like puzzle pieces.

Brian didn't bother getting dressed as he exited his bedroom with a long, satisfying sigh. As he made his way downstairs he couldn't help but feel like something was off.

"Morning." He called as he stepped downstairs to see his roommates sitting at their usual spot in the kitchen table, sipping their coffee with tired expressions. Roger was absent from the group, which brought the concern he'd felt in the bedroom back. "Where's Rog?"

"Thought he was with you?" John said as a question before pointing to the front door. "He's probably out for a smoke."

Brian opened the front door and looked around, even stepping down to the porch to get a better range. Panic was beginning to boil over as Roger was once again not found. He hurried to the back door, ignoring his friend's concerned looks, and searched the backyard. Again, nothing. 

He felt as if he was going mad and he hadn't noticed how heavily he was breathing until Freddie approached, placing his hands on his shoulders and instructing him to follow his breathing which he immediately began to do.

"In, out," Freddie smiled reassuringly as Brian absently followed his breathing instructions, though his eyes darted back and forth between the man in front of him and the front door. "Good. Keep breathing, and I'll grab your phone and call him, he's probably out buying more smokes."

Freddie did just as he said and took Brian's phone before calling Roger. The line trilled twice before going to voice mail, meaning Roger had declined the call. He furrowed his brow and attempted not to make a face as to not concern Brian, but by the way Brian's eyes were widening it was clear he had an idea what had happened. 

"What if he's going to the bridge we passed on the way here? What if he's hurt? He took his pills!" Brian huffed as he pointed out the bar of medication missing only certain tablets, leaving the antidepressants and other mixed capsules. "Oh my god, I should have locked the doors. What if he's already taken all of them?"

As Brian spun himself into more panic, Freddie pulled his coat and John's coat from the closet before approaching them both. His motherly instincts kicked in and he quickly began to soothe the younger man who was quickly spiraling by running a hand over his cheek.

"Darling, he's gonna be fine. He couldn't made it far, we'll find him." 

Brian seemed to believe him and nodded shakily before practically racing to put on his shoes. He could feel his body shaking and his hands become cold and clammy as he thought of every possible scenario he could imagine. What if he'd already done something he would never be able to come back from? What if he was already dead? What if he was hurt? The thoughts came faster than he could process and as soon as he stood he nearly collapsed from the dizzying anxiety flooding his body.

As he exited the home with John and Freddie, he mumbled a prayer under his breath that Roger was okay. His friends pretended they didn't hear this as they didn't want to embarrass him, but they shared the same hopes.

* * *

 

The diner around him bustled impatiently as over-worked waitresses raced around the building, simply attempting to make sure each table was accounted for. The chaotic tension that filled the restaurant was comforting to Roger, who was counting a healthy sized stack of cash from a wallet that did not belong to him. He hadn't ordered much, just enough to fill his stomach with something that he could hold down for the trip back to his town. His hands shook and he felt overwhelming dread as he stood from the booth, setting down the cash before exiting.

The air was chilly unlike the morning when it was sunny and warm and he was forced to zip the jacket he was wearing up to his neck. The pants he wore were Brian's, along with the shirt and jacket. He hoped Brian wasn't particularly attached to these items of clothing as he wouldn't be getting them back which Roger attempted not to feel bad for. This was for the best, after all.

A vibration in his pocket was felt but he quickly swiped the call away with his thumb without daring to see the caller ID.

The walk to the bus station wasn't long but it was still draining as he bled cigarettes quicker than he could light them. His chest ached and his side burned with each step and gust of wind that passed him by. He'd decided only to bring his bottle of painkillers, and removed his rib binding before he'd left the house as it was becoming harder to breathe the closer he came to leaving Brian's side. 

The bus station was large and indoors, meaning as soon as he stepped inside his body was filled with warmth that sent a chill down his spine. He removed his jacket and placed his backpack down on the floor next to a long stretch of chairs he sat on. Roger pulled out the wallet- now his wallet, once again and peered inside just to make sure he had everything he needed.

Over seventy pounds and an ID belonging to some chap named Floyd Hurst was inside, along with a photo of a dog. A terrier, by the looks of it. He felt somewhat bad he'd taken the wallet, but when it's sitting on the pavement outside of a market all alone without an owner in sight, it couldn't be too terribly missed. Moreover, he needed it more in likeliness. At least, that's what he told himself.

Pushing his guilt aside he watched for the bus schedules as they were shown above him on a screen displaying the place and date for each station. His anxiety wasn't soothed in any case when he saw the King's Lynn bus was going to be another hour.

"Fuck," Roger grumbled under his breath as he looked around his area. Based on the time and the call he'd received, Brian had most likely already woken up. Perhaps he was relieved Roger was out of his hair, out of his home, and no longer taking up unwanted space on his couch. He felt pathetic practically begging Brian to stay with him that morning, and a wave of guilt rushed through him as he thought his actions over.

Since he had an hour to kill, Roger decided the best use of his time was to get another iced coffee as to have something to drink with his pain killers. The bus station had a dining area and he picked a booth closest to the entrance in case the times for his bus were changed and he needed to rush. The coffee was too sweet, but also bitter despite shaking it to mix the blend of milk and coffee before tasting it. He popped his medication but the pain in his chest wasn't passing. Just his luck that he'd be sitting on a bus for four hours without any relief from his aching body.

His plans were something he hadn't thought completely through. He'd stopped at a market before arriving which meant he had three new boxes of Marlboro's and a few other things for when he returned to the place he called home.

Roger didn't spend much longer inside of the dining area and soon returned to his seat, now deciding it was a good time to buy his bus ticket and wait as it was growing closer to the time he would be departing. As soon as his ticket was bought, he sat back down in the uncomfortable plastic chair and felt a long, sharp throbbing in his ribs that didn't leave when he inhaled strongly.

The blonde brought a hand to his chest and pushed down gently only to hear and feel a sickening crunch under the pressure of his fingertips. Panic rose in his throat and he quickly stood and took himself to the toilets as quickly as he could without injuring himself or causing a scene, shutting himself into a stall before removing his shirt to examine the damage he'd done.

The bottom of his torso was completely red and swelling faster and faster as he began to hyperventilate. He didn't know how to fix it, and as he reached for his bag he realized with dread that he'd left his backpack at his chair. Roger wasn't sure he could even walk back to the waiting area to grab it, but as soon as he felt another intense wave of pain shoot through him, forcing a loud whimper out from his throat, he knew it was either allow his ribs to shatter or return to the lounge to seize his bandages.

It took Roger all of his energy to exit the stall and stumble to his bag. Gripping the walls for the support he traced his way to the rows of unoccupied seats as carefully as he could, but every step sent another shock of pain through his body and he began to feel a bit dizzy at the feeling.

As soon as he approached it, he threw it on to a chair and began to hunt into it as swiftly as he could to locate his wrap under the stack of things he'd brought for his trip. Just as he spotted the gauze and his cell phone, he had no time to celebrate as a firm hand was placed on his shoulder that quickly tugged him around to face whoever it was.

"What the _fuck_ were you thinking, Roger?" Brian asked angrily, attempting to keep his voice down. His face was red and he seemed to be shaking. Freddie and John were behind him with equally concerned looks, but not as much as the man in front of him who grabbed him once again after not receiving a reply.

Roger whimpered pitifully under his grasp and attempted to wiggle out of it only to find Brian's grip much stronger than he'd thought. His chest was now shooting with pain and every flinch caused his ribs to grind against themselves sickeningly. His thoughts were blank from the surprise but also the overwhelming fear and pain. He was almost hoping he was imagining things and Brian wasn't really in front of him so he wouldn't have to feel how embarrassed he was at the moment.

"Roger- What were you thinking?" Brian asked once again, "You could have been fucking killed. You could have gotten an infection!" He continued to shake the blonde like a rag doll and tears were beginning to form in the younger man's eyes from the discomfort he was in. To Brian, he was only upset at being caught attempting to run off. 

Once again, Brian didn't receive an answer which only frustrated him more. "Okay, fine, you can explain yourself on the way home. Grab your bag." He gripped Roger by the arm and pulled him forward before the young man pulled back violently, twisting his wrist up to his chest with a pained sob. 

"Brian, stop!" Roger cried as he stumbled back, tripping over his own feet before collapsing onto his back into the floor with a heavy, panicked, exhalation. He could feel the wind knocking out from his lungs which didn't ease his pain, only forcing his alarm to become worse as he began to gasp for air followed by a burning coughing fit. Each breath was agony for him and Freddie was the one to crouch down to help him get back up before noticing Roger was grasping at his ribs as if they were going to fall out.

"Roger, I'm going to lift your shirt, okay?" Freddie cooed as he slowly gripped the hem of Brian's shirt on his body. Roger had no reaction as it was lifted over his stomach and his pecks, revealing his even more swollen ribs that had become a deep red over his bruises. "John-" 

"Deaky call an ambulance or something!" Brian cut off, his words almost faster than John could understand. His gaze was unmoving and his eyes were wide in fear for his friend, completely unsure what to make of himself during the situation.

Upon hearing this, Roger sat up and began to shake his head violently before gripping Freddie's hand as if it was a lifeline. "Please- It's just a bit of swelling, don't call the hospital! I'm sorry, just take me back to your house I promise I won't leave!" He pleaded urgently as his sobbing took over his voice before it was nearly a smothered whisper.

"If we drive it'll be faster." Someone said.

"Darling, this isn't a punishment. I believe you've cracked your ribs again- we're helping." Freddie said as he attempted to force Roger to lay back down despite his refusal.

"No, they're fine. I can prove it," Roger responded hopefully as he sat up. His body created a loud, thunderous noise as his bones cracked more. He shouted in pain, the noise echoing through the station which got a handful of stares. He gripped Freddie's shirt in comfort and pressed his forehead against his chest while he continued to cry. "P-Please, please, please, Freddie. Don't take me back. D-Don't take me back there."

The sight was almost too much for both Brian and John who were silently observing. It broke Brian's heart in half to see Roger reduced to this; begging on the floor while sobbing and gripping his friend for life.

He struggled to hold back his own tears as he watched this happen in front of him. He was supposed to be the one who made sure Roger would be alright, not be the one to cause him even more pain and misery. It was becoming harder to tell himself that this was doing more help than harm as the young man in front of him began to lose his grip on reality.

The silence surrounding him beside the sounds of his shoes scraping the floor as everyone in the area focused their attention on him was driving a hole into Roger's head as he worked to frantically try and avoid his friends' attempts to pull him up to his feet. The burning in his chest and his weakened state from how panicked he was caused him to be unable to fight back for long, and after a few moments of aggressive fighting, he was resigning to the idea that it would be impossible to avoid this, no matter how much it pained him to even think about.

Being picked up by your arms and physically dragged like a rag doll out of somewhere while you're kicking and screaming isn't as much fun as it sounds.

"They're gonna send me to a loony bin, Brian. I won't ever be able to see you again or Freddie and John, Brian!" Roger panted heavily as he leaned against Freddie and John's holds. "Please just- let's go home.."

The older man couldn't bring himself to look at Roger as they took him out of the bus station. He continued to struggle against their grips as hard as he could but he was nothing compared to John and Freddie- it felt just like it had when he was a child, and then again when he was twenty living with  _that_ man. He could almost smell the mold from the couch and the burning tobacco from his father's pipe. He could no longer restrain himself now as a sob tore through his chest.

"Please...I don't want you to touch me. Don't hurt me." He whispered almost incoherently to no one individually, more or less the area encircling him.

"Roger, hey," Brian whispered with a smile that was dripping in worry and faux reassurance. Roger glanced over to him with an accompanying sniffle. "You're gonna be okay. No ones gonna send you off, it was an accident."

"Y-you don't know that. They're gonna take one look at my medical record and send me back to the psych ward, like a fucking psycho." He gritted his teeth in agony and misery as he spoke. Tears had begun to form again. "I won't be able to see you or Freddie and John. I- I wanna go home, Brian. I wanna go back to your house- _our_ house."

The words cut deep into his soul but there was simply nothing Brian could do. His attempts to tell Roger no one was going to take him to the psych ward were futile, and his mind had convinced itself that he would never see them again. It was gut-wrenching, and he could only imagine what was going on inside of his brain right now. Brian extended his hand out to the blondes back and stroked it gently in a failed attempt to comfort him as he flinched away urgently.

"Think of all the lime Jell-O you're gonna be able to eat when you're getting your ribs fixed." Brian grinned but Roger was past listening.

"Roger no one is going to take you away. It was an accident- you overextended yourself too early and broke your ribs again. It happens. No one is going to send you off, and no one is going to take you away from me."

His words seemed to slip right past the young man. The awful memories of being brought to the hospital, strapped to a gurney begging to go home, after jumping from the bridge had begun to plague his thoughts and he was silent for the rest of walk to the car. He knew Brian was most likely being truthful in his words but did he know? Did he know what they would do to him once inside the clinic? Would he be able to do anything if they  _were_ to send him off to the psych ward? The doubts inside of his mind only caused him to begin to panic again.

Roger whimpered pathetically as he thought over his options. He should have just wrapped his chest before he left that day because now he was even more of a burden than he was before. Brian was angry with him and that much he could tell, John and Freddie most likely were too. If he wasn't sent off to some nut house, he would most likely be kicked out of their home for forcing them into yet another situation they didn't ask to be a part of.

The car ride was just as miserable as the walk. Instead of dragging him by the arms to the car they had to sit and listen helplessly to his mumbling and whimpers. No amount of consoling helped and when he began to gently hit and roll the side of his head against the glass window next to him, Brian was forced to hold his head in his lap which he silently accepted and continued to cry in his friend's lap. He didn't even seem like he was himself. It was as if something broke off from his soul and left him to be a chaotic mess of tears and fright- and it wasn't just his ribs.

As soon as they arrived in the clinic, Roger was taken from his seat to the emergency room as gently as they could be.

Freddie and John had decided to drop the pair off at the front as to not have to drag him through the parking lot, and they weren't too far behind as they found parking and rushed towards where the emergency entrance was to find Brian, gripping Roger's hand, and becoming more frustrated as the seconds passed. Roger was resting on a gurney now and his hand continuously reached for his ribcage, the tears beginning to slow but his chest still rising and falling shakily. Upon reaching closer an argument between the young man and a nurse could be heard.

"-Why can't I come with him?" Brian sneered as the doctors surrounding Roger's bed seemed to be attempting not to lose their own cool having repeated the same excuses over and over.

"We can't have more than three people in the examination room, we need to give him an x-ray and see the damage. You can see him as soon as it's done, sir." 

John reached a hand out to Brian and placed it on his shoulder, getting his attention. "He'll be fine, right Rog?" The group glanced to Roger who was still gripping Brian's hand, his gaze empty and seemingly lost somewhere within himself.

"My love, they won't be long. Remember when John broke his wrist and they only took ten minutes? He was good as new when we saw him right after." Freddie smiled in support as Brian attempted to relax. He didn't seem to believe him but he gently released Roger's hand despite the blondes effort to reach back out and take it with a shake of his head.

"Fine. Roger, we'll be waiting, okay? We're not gonna leave you. It'll be fast." Brian spoke but he hardly believed the words himself. He was more afraid than Roger of losing sight of him and perhaps losing him for good just after getting him back. 

With that, he was being taken into a back room for x-rays. His unfocused gaze didn't change as he was wheeled into a new area of the hospital completely alone and that struck something within Brian. Perhaps taking him to a hospital despite his wishes wasn't the best plan. He hardly noticed when he was being herded into the waiting area and pushed into a chair by Freddie until he looked around his surrounding area to find women and children alike sitting around him.

Each person inside of the room was either ill or looked as if they were going to be- most likely fearing the worst news. In one of the corners was a young boy, most likely around six, with a cast around his arm while his father helped him color in a photo of a dolphin. Just across from the father and son were a group of youthful teenagers and two adults, each crying while attempting to suppress their sobs. 

It was a grim environment. 

"He'll be okay, Brian. It was just a mistake." John said quietly as he too examined the room around him. Brian nodded through his cloud of thoughts.

"What if it wasn't an accident? What if he was leaving to do something bad?" Brian worried out loud before he could stop himself. His friends placed their hands on his body, but it felt numb and cold despite their love.

"We did the right thing. He just slipped, it wasn't anyone's fault. We'll tell the doctors he...Sneezed or something." Freddie smiled at the ending of the sentence which made the other two smile as well. It sounded like something he would manage to do- sneeze too enthusiastically and crack a rib. The humor in the room subsided in only a moment and they were each back to their respective worry.

Brian couldn't stop thinking about how he should have  _known._ Roger himself sat right next to him and told him how as soon as he could afford it, he would buy a bus ticket and leave to get out of their hair. He didn't notice any cash missing from his wallet, but he didn't exactly count his bills. He should have as Roger had to have taken money from him to afford the ticket. He should have locked the doors with a key, hugged Roger a little tighter, told him how loved he was. He _should_ have, but he didn't. Now that is on him, and this is all his fault.

Their wait was just as short as Freddie promised and soon after they'd gotten comfortable, a nurse was entering calling, 'Roger Taylor?'.

Brian sat up quite quickly as if someone else would before him and approached the nurse with a worried look on his face. He looked as if he could burst into tears at any moment. "Is he okay? Can I see him?" He asked as Freddie and John joined his side.

"His bottom ribs that were already fractured had a clean shatter, he should be okay after a few weeks of taking it easy. Based on the circumstances and his medical records, we've decided to keep him overnight to make sure he doesn't hurt himself again." 

Brian's gaze dropped. "He didn't do this on purpose, it was an accident." Based on how his voice rose, he was beginning to get himself worked up again from even the suggestion this was a form of self-harm. The nurse smiled warmly and understandingly which put his frustration aside for a moment.

"That's what he said too, but we just need to make sure. I'm sure you understand." 

"Can we see him?" John asked in concern upon the young woman ignoring Brian's previous question.

"Of course, follow me." She smiled once again and lead them down a hallway. The top of the entrance read _'Accident and emergency'._ Brian released a sigh of relief he wasn't aware he was holding in when they weren't escorted to the psych unit as he feared.

As they approached the room it began to feel all too similar to when he wandered down the cold and lonely hallway to see Roger laying in bed that night, chained down and pale with his lungs aching with each breath he took in. It was hard not to think he was going to see the same thing but as he entered the room, he saw Roger staring out the window with a somewhat peaceful look on his face. His cheeks were puffy and flushed and wet streaks ran down his face from previous tears already cried, but he looked content.

As soon as he saw his friends, he smiled with complete warmth that radiated down each of their bodies with accompanying chills. Roger was laying in bed with his chest exposed, presumably only wearing his boxers under the layers of blankets he'd covered himself with. Dark purple and green bruises enveloped his torso from his previous injuries but his lower chest was inflamed and red painfully, and despite his laid-back appearance they all grasped it had to be anguish with each breath.

"You look a lot better." Freddie grinned to the young man, rubbing his hand over his leg wrapped in the blankets. He nodded and looked out the window once again before pointing at it.

"They gave me more pain killers- good stuff. Can you open the window?"

They each paused for a moment, unsure if they could complete his request. By their hesitation, Roger knew they were unsure of what to do. Perhaps they believed he was still a flight risk. Someone that would set themselves on fire at the first sight at a lighter.

"Please?" Roger asked again, his placid demeanor beginning to crack.

Brian approached the window and slid it open with both hands. The air that blew through the room was sunny and smelled like soil and rain, the clouds working to darken. An icy chill ran past Roger's bare torso and caused goosebumps to run down his arms.

It was a massive relief when the window slid open and he could breathe in the fresh air. From his first visit to the hospital where he was put into the psych ward, he wasn't allowed to even get near the windows. Everyone in that wing of the hospital was deemed too insane to deserve fresh air, apparently, and he was only allowed to stare outside at the world he couldn't interact with. Seeing the window slide open without the upper hand of doubt pass by the faces in the room was more than relieving as if letting the young man in the bed know he wasn't as insane and untrustworthy as he thought.

"Uh, Rog..." Brian anxiously ran his fingers through the belt loops of his trousers. "Why did you leave?"

This seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back and Roger immediately began to sniffle once again, his nose red and his eyes glazing over. Brian began to feel absolutely awful about even asking so soon, especially when he knew it was his fault. He should have never had shouted at Roger like he did the night before, and he never should have shouted at him in the bus station. They all sat in the wake of the heartbreaking sounds of Roger beginning to painfully cry, his chest heaving as he struggled to find the words.

"I'm sorry. I want to go home now." He mumbled in a whisper, his voice breaking as his bottom lip quivered.  Brian wanted to tell him it was going to be okay, tell him they could go home soon, but he wasn't going to let him off without an answer. 

"Rog, you didn't answer me. Is this because I yelled at you last night?" 

Both John and Freddie exchanged nervous glances. Neither had heard yelling but based on the car leaving and returning in the middle of the night they had to piece the missing pieces by themselves as to not cause any more distress. If Brian wanted them to know, he would have told them about it on the way to the bus station.

"N-no. I'm just...I can't do this anymore." Roger wept, his words striking concern into each of them as they assumed the worst. "I don't mean- I mean I can't sit in your house and act like it's fine when I know it's not. I've seen the way you all look at me- I know you lot walk on eggshells when you're near me like I'm gonna fall apart. M-Maybe I am sick but...I can't let myself weigh all of you down when It's my fault you're in this situation that you didn't ask for."

Brian could practically feel his heart shattering as he spoke. He never once felt as if Roger was weighing him down if anything he felt more alive when the blonde was around than he ever had. He couldn't find his voice, and each time he opened his mouth he shut it once again. Upon seeing his internal struggle, Freddie pulled his chair closer to the bed where Roger was facing and took his hand gently.

"Roger, you need to stop acting as if you aren't welcomed in our home. We've loved having you around, you get Brian to unwind his tight ass and we've been trying to do that for  _years_. We haven't known you for long, but it would break our hearts if you left us. We really do care about you even if you don't care about yourself, darling."

As Freddie spoke Roger had begun to cry again, this time accompanied by loud and smothered sobs that were caught in his throat that made his chest ache and his head pound as he attempted to suppress his emotions without success. His grip on the mustached man only tightened and he pulled the older man closer, looking down at their intertwined hands with a misty gaze.

"Okay?" Freddie asked more forcefully as he didn't receive a reply. 

"Okay," Roger replied.

They stayed silent for a few moments while the blonde collected himself and used his forearm to wipe his face, though the tears continued to stream down his cheeks and down his neck despite how hard he was trying not to cry. He was just too overwhelmed and still panicking from the entire day he'd had so far, and it was hardly lunchtime. Once he was cool enough to speak without his voice shaking, he looked up and with a sniffle and accompanying hiccup before asking, "When do I get to leave?"

No one in the room wanted to volunteer to break the news that he would be staying overnight, but based on the silent and concerned looks towards Brian, he was elected. He cleared his throat and put a hand to the back of his neck before pulling his loose curls from his skin, running his fingers over the back of his head stiffly.

"Uh, they've thought it best to keep you overnight. Just, you know, to make sure you're okay."

Roger stared at him blankly before looking over at John and Freddie who were just as concerned of his reaction as Brian was. "But- I don't want to stay here. I want to go home, Brian." As he spoke he began to slowly sit up from his reclined position he was in moments before. The pain in his chest was mild from the pills he'd been given, but it was enough to make him wince in pain which Freddie noticed and helped by stuffing his pillow under his lower back to support him.

"I know, Rog. I don't really think we have much of a choice here. You hurt your ribs pretty good there."

Roger looked down at his chest. The swelling had stopped and the redness had peaked at a dark crimson. He feared more bruises would be coming of this as his chest was already green and blue from his first break, and the truth was he was ashamed of how his body looked at the moment.

He was embarrassed he was shirtless in front of his friends in this state, the flesh covering his ribs swollen and his torso covered in bruises with his long incision that was beginning to scar threatening to make an appearance if he didn't watch how he moved. The rest of his body was thin, boney, and weak. Eyes drunk by dark rings and drained skin just under that. He felt just as fragile as he looked and it disturbed him that he was being perceived as he saw himself, almost as if this body he was in was only an illusion and a much healthier variant of himself rested just beneath this one.

He slowly gripped his blankets and pulled them to his neck, hoping that no one had seen his body in this state. His cheeks were burning red and he could feel himself beginning to sweat from the situation he was in. He only wanted to go home, back to laying on Brian's couch and hearing his friends bickering at their kitchen table drinking too much coffee while he listened. He hated the sound of his heart monitor hooked to him again and he hated the sounds of doctors and nurses alike walking the halls just outside his closed door, as he knew what was waiting for him. They were only pressing time until they took him to the psych ward, and that's why Freddie was being so nice to him.

Did they need him to stay overnight to prepare him a room in the loony bin? It seemed most likely. There was no other reason Brian, John, and Freddie would be so kind and gentle to him if he'd only been there for a broken rib or two. No, this was goodbye.

The thoughts of this were beginning to once again overwhelm him. It made sense in his head, of course, because he was allowing himself to believe it. Instead of tears he simply inhaled deeply, exhaling after a moment of holding his breath, and sank back into his bed. In his own, silent, way he was admitting defeat and giving in to the fact he was never going to see his friends again. He was used to losing friends but losing Brian twice hurt more than crying.

Though his silence was unusual to the group, they assumed he was only attempting to make the best of a situation he wouldn't be able to change. Freddie and John sat together; John on his phone playing a crossword while Freddie breathed down his neck pointing out every word he saw with a grin when John would push his head away only to return right back where he just was. Brian sat across from Roger's bed, staring at the floor. He understood why he wasn't talking to him; he understood why Brian wouldn't look him in the eyes.

He was too guilty that he was going to allow them to take him away, too guilty that he'd forced him into the hospital. It was hard to determine if he knew they were going to take him back to the psych ward based on his expressions, but Roger knew Brian was angry with him on top of it all.

Speaking would only make it all so much worse, so neither spoke.

It was nearing sunset when John and Freddie decided they were hungry, standing and stretching while both Brian and Roger watched with curious eyes.

"We're gonna go get some food. Hopefully, something that won't burn a hole into our stomachs, hm?" Freddie smiled. "What would you two like?"

"I'm not that hungry, Fred." Brian smiled before looking at Roger for his opinion. He also shook his head.

"Well, I can't just let you two sit there and widdle away! I'm going to be back with something vegetable for you, and something edible for our sickie." He grinned with a toothy smile as John smiled back, the pair exiting to leave the other two in the room by themselves before they could refuse.

The silence in the air was straining, tense. It couldn't be cut with a knife. Brian reclined in his chair and raised his hands above his head, his shirt running up his torso slackly as he reached which Roger strived not to look at even if he wanted to. All he caught a glimpse of was a sharp hip bone protruding from the older man's flesh. Brian truly was all bone and no meat, Roger thought as he forced back a smile.

"Are you alright?" Brian asked suddenly. Roger wasn't sure what he was talking about until he noticed how cold he'd gotten despite feeling his hands and feet sweating, his hands shaking violently on his lap. He was beginning to have a panic attack and he was just now noticing- far too late to cool himself down.

Roger found his throat becoming tight and his lungs pressing into themselves for air, feeling his heart practically fighting to keep him alive. He was pale, even more so, and his head was dizzy. Roger moved a quivering hand to his head and ran it across his forehead anxiously as he knew there would be no, ' _I'm fine'_ ing his way out of this.

"It's just-" Roger began but couldn't finish. His voice quivered as he spoke and he didn't feel nearly confident enough to attempt again. Brian joined him by his side and took his hands, feeling how clammy and cold they'd gotten.

"Rog, you're gonna have to calm down and let me know what's going on. Is it your chest? Your side?" Brian asked in a rush which didn't help his own panic.

The younger man pressed a hand to his head and felt hot tears running down his face and a whimper escaping his throat. His friend gripped his face with both of his hands and lifted his head gently, forcing him to look at him. He hated the way Brian looked at him these days.

"Roger, you gotta tell me what's going on. Do I need to get a doctor?" He asked as gently as he could but it still panicked Roger made clear by the way his eyes widened in panic and he immediately backed up from Brian's grip, pushing him back.

"Don't- Just leave me alone," Roger begged as he positioned himself towards the corner of the bed, slowly standing and turning around to face the older man who was now standing with his hands out.

"You're gonna hurt yourself, Rog. You gotta sit back down, let's lie back down and I'll get a nurse."

This clearly wasn't going to go over well, and the blonde gripped the bed for support as he cried. His gaze didn't waver from Brian. "I'm not going to the psych ward, Brian! I don't want to, and I'm not going to! If you want me to go so bad just let me go back to the bus station and I'll never come back."

Brian watched in confusion, his brows furrowed. Roger had begun to completely panic now as he raised a hand to his forehead again as a violent sob ripped through him, his eyes screwed shut tight as he grimaced. His head felt like his skull was cracking and he could hardly see.

"You're not going to the psych ward, okay? No one is taking you there. You need to sit down and breathe." He said as gently as he could before rounding the bed and facing his friend who had begun to back away from him in alarm. He could begin to feel tears stinging his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away as to stay strong for his friend who was clearly in need.

"No- No,  _no._ Don't t-touch me." Roger placed a hand out in front of him while his other stayed on the side of his head. "You're gonna fucking- You lied to me I don't want to see you."

Brian approached him and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, receiving a feeble attempt to escape his grasp that was much stronger than the blondes. He soon gave up, his legs buckling underneath him which forced them both to sink to the ground as to not further damage the young man's body. Roger laid limp in his arms with his head tucked under Brian's chin. He remained to wail powerfully and soon was clutching his friend for dear life.

"Roger, you gotta talk to me. Let me in, tell me what's going on." Brian begged in a whisper as he held him tighter upon feeling his body shake in his grasp.

"I-I don't want you to leave me. I can't- I can't go back to that place, Brian. They're gonna treat me like an animal, Brian, you can't just let them! You have no idea!" Each word was drawn out and choked which forced his voice to deepen and crack. 

"No one's gonna take you away from me, Roger. I'm not going anywhere and neither are you."

"You're gonna send me off to some asylum, I'm not daft. I'll never see you three again..."

The older man pulled back, a long trail of saliva running from his shirt to Roger's lips as he did. The boy in front of him still had his hand to his head and his cheeks were puffy, red, and wet. He looked absolutely drained and pathetic as he shook in his grasp.

"I'd never do that to you. Where are you getting this from?" Brian asked. Roger stopped and looked at the floor below him as he tried to remember his reasoning. Everything seemed hazy and far away as he attempted to concentrate, but his heads pounding made it impossible. He was mad and this was more than proof, which only made his headache worse.

Roger shook his head and whimpered as he swallowed heavily. He allowed Brian to hold him up as his body was completely limp against his touch, and Brian once again pulled him into an air-restricting hug. Neither of them spoke, only hearing the sounds of both of them crying as Brian wasn't able to contain himself seeing his friend so panicked and upset at such a thought.

After seconds that felt like eternities, Roger pulled back from the hug and placed his hands on Brian's head, running his hands through his hair while he watched. His long fingers running through his curls gently, only occasionally finding a knot as he brushed through. The older man returned the favor and began to slide his hands through the blonde hair in front of him, running the pads of his finger-tips across the parts of his head where the hair was missing but had started to grow back, resulting in a fuzzy texture. Neither of them noticed at the moment, but both were unconsciously moving closer to one another until they were only an inch apart.

"I won't let anyone take you from me..." Brian whispered as their lips brushed each other kindly. Roger made a small noise in the back of his throat, almost as a cry of pleasure but too muffled by his drowned throat, before leaning in, closing off the remaining space between them. 

Roger placed his hands on Brian's thigh and traced upward, running his thumb across his inner leg while the older man wrapped a hand around the others' head and pulled him even closer. Roger's lips were chapped and dry but had a thin layer of saliva coating them from his crying while Brian's were full and soft, pink and non-bitten, unlike the blondes.

Just as Brian was reciprocating the gentle touch he was receiving on his inner thigh, that was now creeping closer into his groin, the door opened and his friends entered just as shocked as you'd think.

"Oh, we're so sorry! Had no idea you were having a shag!" Freddie shouted as he covered John's eyes for him which he grumbled at while attempting to get his hand off of his face. "John, shield your eyes there are two men in here shagging."

"Freddie-" John began before he was able to see. Brian and Roger were on the floor, Roger's hand remaining on his friend's inner thigh and they were both crimson red from head to toe. John grinned and his eyes widened. "You could have put a sock on the door!"

The men entered the room as Brian stood and helped the blonde to his feet, though carefully as he was still quite shaken up and could hardly stand on his own. He quickly ran his hands over his face to cover any trace he'd been crying but as his face was already quite red, it was going to be impossible. He sat in bed carefully, allowing his friend to tuck the sheets back over his body and torso, and attempted not to make eye contact with either of his friends.

"You two ever heard of knocking?" Brian asked while he smothered a cheeky grin.

"Oh, you know what, we haven't," John replied quickly as he held out a box of salad contained in a see-through plastic container. Freddie leaned over to the bed and set down another plastic see-through container, this one full of french fries, a lime Jell-O cup, and grilled cheese. Roger gave a shaky smile as he took the container, the older man giving him a wink with it that made him giggle.

"So what were you two getting up to? We gonna have a new friend in nine months?" John asked with a loud laugh as he spoke, using his wrist to cover his mouth as it was full of a chewed sandwich.

"Yes, John, and it's yours." Brian deadpanned.

Everyone in the room laughed including Roger who was beginning to re-catch his breath. 

Each of their dinners was sub-par but it was a meal and none of them were going to complain, no matter how badly Freddie wanted to. 

For the rest of the night, the group talked, played games, and enjoyed their time together. The pressing question of if Roger still believed he was going to be abandoned weighed heavily in Brian's mind but they'd finally get his mind off of the situation he was in, and no one was going to ruin that by asking him questions about what he was planning on doing if he'd gotten on that bus.

Roger wasn't exactly sure of his plans either, all he knew was he was going to leave.

* * *

 

 It was nearing ten o' clock at night and John was quietly sleeping in one of the chairs next to Brian, his head gently resting on the older man's shoulder while he himself attempted not to tip-off. Freddie was next to the bed with Roger showing him a piano he had his eyes on, and Roger listened intently as he spoke. He talked about his music so passionately, it was beautiful. 

As Freddie pressed play on a video of the said piano but in action, he began to run his fingers through Roger's long blonde hair curiously. Roger hardly noticed until he'd begun to braid the locks, gently pulling his hair forward and twisting it over another lock of hair to create a long, thin, braid. He allowed this to happen and soon the right side of his head was covered in small braids that the older man seemed quite proud of.

Freddie's fingers ran over the much shorter parts of the blonde's hair, stroking them gently and soothingly. He felt no embarrassment about the spots when they were being given attention to by Freddie, almost like he was silently telling him he understood and wasn't judging him. He didn't feel judged when he took a hand and placed the pad of his thumb against one of the areas and he didn't feel ashamed when Freddie gave him a concerned look.

"I've seen photos of you when your hair was short, you know." Freddie smiled as he spoke quietly. Despite the men speaking of this only a day before, they spoke of it like it was new information for the sake of conversation.

"Mhm, what did you think?"

"I think you look much better with long hair that's what. You and Deaky look like hippies, but that's not such a bad thing. It suits you, my love." He gently ran a hand through the braids he'd just made, straightening the hair back out over his head.

Roger hesitated in his reply and he didn't return the smile he was being given.

"I'm sorry if I...You know scared you guys earlier." 

"Oh, don't worry about that. We knew you were okay." Freddie cooed gently, though he broke eye contact.

"You did?"

"I did, Brian not so much. He cried."

Roger looked over at his friend who was now relaxing against John's body as much as John was on his body, both of them intertwined together and quietly asleep. Brian looked exhausted but calm, his breathing regular and soft.

"He did?" He didn't seem to believe Freddie, but based on how his friend was now looking at Brian it was most definitely true.

"You must understand, when John and I first met him we were all in college. He was only twenty- and he'd just been left by someone who he thought he'd marry. Brian was a complete wreck, dear. He would cry every night and God was he needy, could hardly focus on his studies. Now, I don't know what happened that day and I don't want to ask, but you need to know he loves you more than you know. I think if you'd left him he would have just..." Freddie trailed off with a solemn look to the floor. The pain was written across his face and was more than enough proof of the truth in his words. "He would have been very sad, Roger."

The memories of Brian, hardly twenty-one-years-old, coming home to their dorm room drunk enough to not be able to walk and sobbing was more than a painful memory. He'd be up most of the night in John or Freddie's arms crying and eventually falling asleep when he finally wore himself down enough for rest, but neither had any idea who Roger was or what exactly happened besides when he'd tell them, " _I fucked everything up, and now he's gone."_ which they weren't exactly sure how to take as he never gave an explanation when he was sober.

Roger hadn't even thought about how this might affect Brian. He was too caught up in his own self-shame and pity that he neglected to think maybe his actions would harm Brian's feelings, or worse. He suddenly felt like a real asshole.

"I- I didn't know that. I'm sorry, Fred." Roger mumbled as he ran an anxious hand over his chest, the bones beneath the skin now painfully sensitive. "I just... I couldn't even look at him after what he did. I couldn't go home, and I didn't know where else to go. I didn't have anything, so I just drove until I didn't know where I was. I had no idea Brian..."

He trailed off, too ashamed to continue. He was beginning to feel silly for leaving him that day, he could have talked to him. Perhaps he was being dramatic.

"Roger...What- what  _did_ he do?" Freddie asked carefully though he could tell he was intensely curious as he moved his body forward.

"He- um...He cheated on me."

Freddie seemed shocked but collected himself as to not make a face. He glanced over at his friend who had begun to place his hands over his chest in his sleepy state. Never in a million years did he think he'd do something like that, but it was quite some time ago and he'd changed a good bit.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that. You didn't deserve that. It isn't your fault, darling." Freddie simply replied as he took the blonde's hands. It was all a bit too much, and Roger began to cry quietly from the emotions coming back to him.

He'd never talked about that day with anyone else, and now that he was telling one of Brian's closest friend's- now his friend - it felt like a weight was being lifted off his shoulders as he was told it wasn't his fault. He'd been in his head far too many years debating on whether or not he could be blamed for Brian's cheating- perhaps he was too clingy. Too romantic while also being too sexual, always wanting to jump his boyfriend's bones at night when they were both heading to bed. 

Now hearing ' _You didn't deserve that.'_ was like a breath of fresh air.

"Promise me you won't scare us like that again," Freddie asked, now serious.

"I- I thought you said you weren't scared."

He scoffed. "Oh, please. I was terrified, I was afraid you were dead in a ditch if we're being honest." He smiled despite his grim words which made Roger smile as well.

"Alright, I promise." Sniffling interrupted his words and Freddie, pleased with this, stood and gave the top of his head a kiss before sauntering to John, tugging his shoulder. John blinked sleepily and looked up to see Freddie standing over him before moving, Brian's head that was resting on his shoulder now slipping and causing him to startle awake with a sharp inhale as his long body sunk into John's thin side.

"What- What?" Brian mumbled lazily as he sat himself up and ran his hands over his face with a long, drawn-out yawn. Freddie placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him slightly with a toothy grin he didn't bother covering.

"Go to bed, my love. Deaky and I are going to sleep in the waiting room. We'll be up in the morning, hm?"

John bent drowsily next to Freddie and used his body as something to lean against as he was still half-asleep and drooping downward slowly. Brian nodded and sat up from his chair, his legs numb and shakey as he wandered over to the bed and pulled a chair next to it before placing his hands on top of Rogers'.

Freddie turned off the lights and turned on the light for the bathroom, cracking the door only slightly so the pair could see and exited with a wink to the blonde which he smiled at softly. Now alone, Roger shuffled to the side of the bed and pat the edge invitingly.

"Can you sleep with me tonight?" Roger asked quite bluntly despite needing to force the words out. Brian smiled sleepily and crawled into the bed with him, careful not to touch his chest before the younger man pressed himself against his friend without worry about harming his chest. He wrapped his arms around his thin waist and pulled him as close as he could with a heavy, comforting sigh as Brian returned the favor and pressed a kiss against his forehead.

"Were you crying?" Brian asked quietly upon noticing the way he was shakily breathing and his cheeks were wet. 

"I'm okay, Brian," Roger replied, and he truly meant it this time.

Roger sat awake for nearly an hour before he noticed Brian was slowly pushing him closer to him. He continued to cuddle the blonde closer and closer until he was completely flat against his chest and his head was resting under his chin. Once he was as close as he could get, Brian whimpered quietly and pressed a hand against the back of his partner's head, pushing his fingers through the hair before going back to breathing laboriously. Roger was more than comfortable, ending up wrapping his legs between his friends and soon falling asleep tucked into his body.

It was the best nights sleep he'd had in years.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh shit right? The official explanation for their breakup will be in chapter...8! 7 is very short and will be uploaded either today or tomorrow so dont worry. I worked so hard on this chapter so i hope yall enjoy!! My twitter is @wickedwilybrian and my tumblr is @feedermercury so if you ever wanna chat im there. please leave a comment cause i love those <3


	8. Chapter 6.2: Doing Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian makes a discovery. This is chapter 6.2, please read tags.

It was supposed to all be okay again.

Everything was supposed to be normal, _fine_ even. Roger had attempted to end his life nearly a month ago, and now he was living with his best friend and his new friends. He was  _happy._ Why couldn't Roger see that he was supposed to be healing? He was supposed to be happy, fine, and recovering from his trauma.

Brian felt sick to his stomach at the sight in front of him.

He felt almost numb, the feeling going beyond shock and disappointment. He felt hands on his back attempting to pull him back into the lifeless hospital bed he rested on, but they felt dull and far away.

" _C'mon, it's cold. Cuddle me._ " He heard from a murmur smothered by pillows.

" _One sec, Rog._ "

The seconds felt like eons and each one that passed felt like a lifetime in his mind.

Roger was better, he hadn't had a nightmare that night and they'd even kissed the night before. Sure, he was in a hospital but it wasn't because he'd hurt himself, it was an accident. He was certain of this. They shared loving physical affection, a sign that he was recovering. He was moving towards his recovery, and it was going to be okay because he was trying to  _live._

Brian laid back down against the bed that felt like it had begun to swim against the milky sea of tiled floors. He rested his head against Roger's and the young man responded by folding his legs over Brian's torso.

If he was going to be okay, why did Brian just accidentally discover a wallet that didn't belong to him along with an opened box of razor blades in Roger's backpack?


	9. Show Me How You Self Destruct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GroovynSpoiled said its my turn on the emotional rollercoaster -Brian, ch8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi so this chapter took a while huh? Ive been hella stressed recently and I had to figure this chapter out but im pretty happy with it tbh. I use a lot of medical shit in this chapter and ive used everything so I used my experiences with them as a reference because ive been hospitalized more times than i can count for surgeries and my scoliosis.
> 
> BIG TRIGGER WARNING FOR VOMIT, NEEDLES, ILLNESS, BLOOD, AND MENTION OF SELF HARM AND SUICIDE

 

_It was cold._

The kind of cold that makes you forget warmth was ever something you could obtain or had ever felt. Snow covered the ground around Brian’s uncovered feet and he shivered violently despite the frozen weather now numbing his frigid, frostbitten limbs.

He could overhear someone near him but they echoed far away. Even an attempt to find them would be futile at this point. He was too cold to move, and it seemed idiotic to even try in this weather despite his mind racing curiously.

 He heard another cry from the distance. The snowfall running across his vision blurred anything a foot in front of him but despite how exhausted and frozen he felt to his place in the fluffy snow, he moved ahead towards the voice.

“Is someone there?” Brian asked to the void. Even his voice sounded cold and his windpipe crunched from the ice surrounding it.

 Nothing occurred but another hollow moan from ahead. No matter how much he walked the disembodied voice seemed to get farther away, like it was moving from him.

It felt like days he was walking but in reality, it must have been seconds. A tuft of blonde hair showed through the white ground. He felt his body collapse next to it, dragging the hair forward to find his best friend’s face covered in frozen snow and ice. His lips were blue and there was ice covering his cheeks and eyelashes.

 Brian had no energy to pull him from the ice, so instead, he began to push the snow off of him as quickly as he could.

 “Roger, hey. Stay with me.” He begged to the lifeless body in front of him

 The corpse didn't move but made a low groan as he shoveled snow off of his torso. He soon found humid wetness meeting his fingertips and when he looked down he found his hands covered in blood. With a gasp, he ran his hands over Roger’s torso looking for any cuts but found his palms running over slimy, hot, and squishing _things_.

 “What-” He panicked as he brought his hands above the snow to find the middle part of Roger's large intestine wrapped around his fingers.

 The cold and ice and snow was turned to water and then drained from his world. It was all dark and he once again couldn’t see far in front of him, but now the snow was no longer blocking him. It was like he was in a void, a black hole. Brian looked down and found his hands still wrapped in guts but they were both no longer covered in ice.

 “I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t mean to!” Brian cried as he attempted to put his organs back into place, but they continuously slipped out of his body despite how hard he tried.

 “You’re killing him.” A voice not far from him said. It was familiar but unknown.

 “I didn’t mean to. What do I do?”

 “Take your hands out of him.”

 He was now aware that he was still holding his hands inside of the blonde in front of him. Once they were removed, his hands dripped with crimson.

 “He’s still not breathing, what do I do now?”

 “Stand up and walk away.”

 Brian’s eyes widened and he attempted to look around the area to catch a glimpse of the man speaking to him without success.

 “What do you mean? He’s fucking dying, his organs are outside of him-”

 “Brian, stand up and walk away.”

 Brian clenched his teeth and ran a wet hand across Roger’s cheek, leaving a long streak of red down his face. He then stood and walked away. Each step was like knives in his stomach.

 “Look.”

 Brian turned around. Roger was gone, no longer in the risk of tripping on his intestines. The blood puddle he was swimming in was gone.

 “Where is he?” Brian asked carefully as he now inspected his clean hands.

 Silence.

 “I need to make sure he’s okay.”

 “He’s fine.”

 Silence, though a sob ripped through his chest.

 “I need to see him.”

 Brian turned around on instinct and saw Roger standing behind him, his wrists facing upward toward him and tears welling in his eyes. The blue he was so used to seeing was now completely swallowed by his pupils.

He takes hold of the blonde’s face and runs his hands over his exposed chest carefully. His fingertips graze his stomach and across his hips. The flesh is together and no longer split apart, no longer oozing his insides.

 “You’re safe. You’re fine, Rog.” He gasped as he brought the young man into a hug.

 He didn’t react, only wrapping his arms around his waist loosely without a word. Familiar wetness seeped down his back and when Brian leaned out of it, Roger’s wrists were soaking his clothes in blood.

 “Wh-” Brian began but stopped once the blonde collapsed into his arms with a gasp, bringing his wrists up to his face to inspect the flesh that was torn in half.

 “I’m so sorry,” Roger mumbled. His voice sounded just as the voice earlier had.

 “Oh no, no. Don’t be sorry you haven’t done anything, right? You haven’t done anything.”

 Roger suddenly went slack in his arms and he was too afraid to see if he’d stopped breathing. His entire body seemed to be soaked in his blood and a choking noise was emitting from the back of his friend's throat, gurgling up more liquid onto his shoulders and down his back.

 “You didn’t do anything! You’re fine- you’re with me, Roger. You’re gonna be okay!”

 Once he gathered the courage to pull the blonde away he found his side torn to shreds. His wrists were mutilated and hardly attached to the bone anymore, and he’d begun to choke on his own blood. What looked like a plastic toy was lodged into his flesh.

 Without thinking, Brian took his fingers, wrapped them around the plastic and pulled it out carefully as could be. A toy umbrella sat in his palm.

 “Brian?” He heard. “Brian- hey!”

 Brian looked around and suddenly felt sick as he realized he felt the weight of his friend vanish as his body disappeared from him again. He gripped the umbrella but upon opening his hand, it was gone too.

 “Brian, get up!”

 A sudden jolt of his body woke him and he gasped fiercely as he shot out of bed. He was covered in sweat and out of breath, and hands were gripping his shoulders while shaking him. He could feel the blood dripping down his face and back.

 “Brian, you have to calm down!” Freddie shouted. He repeatedly grabbed for Freddie's wrists and side in a confused haze, and he kept pushing his hands away. 

 He panted heavily while Freddie ran his fingers down his sweating spine in an attempt to soothe him.

 “Just breathe, Bri, you’re fine. You’re with me.”

 The room seemed to spin violently around him, tossing his stomach through a loop. He crawled to the edge of his bed and retched onto the carpet below him with an exhausted sob between breaths. It would certainly be ruined now. There was still so much blood all over him. He could taste it.

 “Oh, my love.” Freddie frowned as he pulled Brian’s hair back into a tail. The younger man gasped oxygen into his lungs desperately but his entire body rejected the attempt and threw him into a coughing fit that only brought more sickness.

 Brian laid back in bed gasping, coughing, and eyes watering as he whimpered in misery.

 “You’re shaking, Brian. Are you ill?” Freddie asked as he ran a cold hand across his friend’s sweating forehead.

 “No, I-I’m not sick.” He croaked out. His voice shook and broke while he talked. A thick cough interrupting him made his words all the less convincing. His mouth tasted like pennies and his nostrils were full of the stench of dried blood, but it was fading along with his panic.

 Brian then sat back up out of bed as quickly as he could despite Freddie’s attempt to pull him back down.

 “Where’s Roger?!” He demanded. “He- Where is he?”

 “My love he’s downstairs. He’s still asleep, he’s fine.”

 “No- You- I need to see him.”

 “I just saw him Bri. What's going on?”

 It had been nearly two weeks since the incident. No one in the home had any idea of Roger’s extra items inside of his bag and Roger had no idea he knew. He could handle it, he often saw the blonde change clothes and each time he would sneak a peek at his wrists and thighs to make sure he was okay. He always was, but the anxiety was always rising in his throat.

He'd decided not to continue sleeping in the same bed as Brian despite his offers. It hurt to admit, even a bit humiliating, but he wanted the blonde's touch and breath running down his neck as he cuddled closer for comfort. Brian had his concerns about leaving Roger alone every night downstairs, but his constant visits to the room illuminated only by television were good enough, just to make sure he was breathing.

 “Nothing. I just...I don’t feel well. I just need to make sure he’s okay too. It could be food poisoning.” Brian felt another drop of sweat run down his back. His shirt was soaked through as if he’d run a marathon.

 Freddie chuckled. “No one else ate that disgusting slop you call food last night, dear.”

 “It’s tofu, Freddie. Not gruel. It’s good.” The thought of food made him a bit queasy in itself.

 “Well, whatever it is, it’s bad and you’re the one who insisted on making it for yourself.” Freddie smiled a bit. “Now, are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

 “I’m just not feeling well-“

 “You said that. I mean why you’re screaming my name in your sleep.”

Freddie frowned deeply when Brians' eyes widened and he quickly attempted to hide his emotions behind a strong-willed expression of bravery.

He had been woken up by John that morning when he came into his room telling him, “ Go see Brian now _,"_  without much of an explanation. However, when they both heard loud shouting and crying, begging for Freddie to help him, he raced to his bedroom and found him writhing under his covers completely panicked and gripping his stomach.

 “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t wake you did I?” Brian looked genuinely guilty and his face was losing more color. 

 “No, Deaky did in fact. You were…Quite vocal about needing me.”

 “S’just a bad dream, Fred.”

 “A bad dream?” Freddie's expression softened and he made himself comfortable on the bed. “We can talk about it.”

 Brian shook his head and sat up out of bed. “It’s nothing, really. I hardly remember it.” He lied. He could practically feel Roger’s slippery intestines squelching and slithering away from his hands as he dug through them.

"If you're sure," Freddie said in a serious tone before a smile twitched on his lips. "Go take a shower and come downstairs, I'll make you some coffee."

He knew how he smelled; like old sweat and vomit, but no matter how aware he was of his own scent, the idea of taking a shower when Roger was downstairs most likely waiting for him was overpowering his will to do much else but check his pulse. 

"No- I'm gonna just check on Rog real quick," Brian said quickly with a concerned look. His stomach attempted to constrict again, but he refused to allow it even with the thoughts of his best friend slipping in his own blood racing through his mind. He attempted to get out of bed but he was quickly dismissed by a hand on his chest, and when he looked up, Freddie was poorly hiding a look of concern.

"How long's it been since you took a hot shower?" 

Brian thought about it. It had been a bit too long since he allowed himself to relax enough to take a shower that didn't consist of running deodorant on and using cologne to cover any smell of his own sweat from his nightmares. He'd been having them since he'd found the pack of razors and they'd only gotten worse as time went on. Roger hadn't been doing well lately which only made his stress worse. He ate when  _he_ felt like it, he drank when  _he_ felt like it, and he smoked like a chimney with shaking hands while refusing to admit he wasn't feeling well. Not only this but he spent the first week out of the hospital sleeping, telling them all, " _I need time to rest."_ even when he'd sleep all day and only get up to use the bathroom or when Brian would shovel food and water down his throat.

Brian knew he'd been taking his medication as he was the one to give it to him and made him lift his tongue and stretch his cheeks apart to make sure he wasn't hiding them to spit them out later. John had been the one to give them out when Brian was busy the first week after the incident, but he was too nervous to ask him to prove he was taking them and Brian wasn't so sure he had been after a particular anxiety attack over his wrap not going all the way around his chest. He felt like a warden for his friend; forcing him to get out of bed, go outside for more than a smoke, and to eat regularly before taking his medication. 

A long story short: It had been too long since Brian had a moment to himself. He hadn't had a shower in what could be two weeks if he kept count, and he'd hardly had time to sleep around his usual insomnia and latest nightmares. He knew that Freddie's comment came from a place of love and concern, but he couldn't help but become a little antsy.

"Doesn't matter, Fred. I have to get changed are you gonna watch me?" He replied with an edge. 

Freddie sighed hopelessly before standing and running a hand across Brian's sweating neck. "Promise me you'll take one later today?"

"Sure."

With that, Freddie was leaving and Brian was alone again. He could still smell the familiar scent of blood wafting through the bedroom but he knew it wasn't real. He knew Roger would be downstairs waiting for him, pulse strong, and eyes heavy with sleep. He knew it, but his body refused to believe it and forced a quiet sob from the pit of his stomach. 

Brian sat up from his bed and retrieved a towel from his bathroom before throwing it down on the currently-staining spot on the carpet. He then made his way to his closet and pulled out the cleanest clothes he could find, reminding himself in the process that he needed to do laundry when Roger fell asleep later that night. 

When he made his way downstairs he saw Roger sprawled on his bed, mouth wide open with his chest rising and falling heavily. Despite the clear signs of life, he made his way to the back of the couch and ran a finger over the blonde's neck. Solid proof of life there. 

He smiled lightly and held back a small tickle in his throat, worried if he let it out that he'd be waking Roger up. Instead, he sat back and made his way to the coffee machine and made himself a mug. When he looked at his friends at the table they both gave him equally concerned looks.

"Yes?" Brian asked hoarsely as he was attempting not to cough.

"You don't look well," John said bluntly. His expression didn't change and he didn't even try to cover his worry. Brian appreciated the concern, but he was really fine besides a small tickle and his chest hurting a bit.

"I'm good. I just didn't sleep well last night." 

Freddie leaned into John and mumbled something that the older man could hardly hear, but he assumed it was about his nightmare and illness. It didn't feel good to be the center of attention when there was someone who actually needed it not five feet from the kitchen, but this is most likely how Roger feels all of the time.

"I'm fine, okay?" Brian attempted to continue speaking but the tickle in his throat became painful and he pressed a closed fist to his mouth, coughing deeply into his hand until he could see black spots swirling in his eyesight. He stumbled a bit when he finally pulled his head back up and gripped the counter with a quick sigh of relief. It didn't last long when another choke ripped through him.

Freddie was suddenly in front of him when he pulled back up with a comforting hand gently easing on to his back that was quivering with the strain he was being put through with every breath. "Let me check your temperature, hm?"

"Freddie- It's just a cough."

He didn't look convinced. 

"Is everything okay?" Roger suddenly asked from the couch very slowly and groggily. His head was propped against the edge of the sofa and he was frowning. He didn't look good himself, and Brian had the urge to tell Freddie to leave him alone so he could take care of the person who needed it.

"He's just a bit sick." The oldest said. Brian gave him a glare and shook his head.

"I'm not."

"Then let me take your temperature."

That was fair. If he wasn't sick he wouldn't have a very high temperature and Freddie would leave him alone. He'd be able to make sure Roger was taken care of as soon as it was done and he'd receive an apology from his friend for treating him like he couldn't take care of himself.

"Fine. Take it." Brian grumbled unhappily while Freddie went out to find the thermometer. 

It seemed like everyone was on edge waiting for the results almost like it was something earth-shattering akin winning the lottery. He didn't have the freedom to be embarrassed from the extra attentiveness as he was too occupied attempting not to cough out the stick hanging out of his mouth and make himself even more obvious that he might not feel well.

As soon as the instrument beeped he removed it from his mouth but Freddie snatched it from his hands and stared down at the number. He held it up in a matter-of-fact way and gave him a knowing look.

"Thirty-eight. You have a fever."

"A high fever." John injected. 

Brian glanced behind Freddie's shoulder to catch a glimpse of Roger who looked just as, if not more, concerned than his friend. He looked so guilty and upset as if it was his fault and all he wanted to do was give his friend a hug. Make him see he was fine, he was just a little warm.

"Okay, so I'll take some cough syrup. Can I make some breakfast now?"

"When you're sick?" John asked from the table with a slight smile. "I don't want you to get _everyone_ diseased."

If he wasn't feeling so poorly he might have argued with his friend's attitude. Instead, he rolled his eyes and sighed, once again holding back the feeling in his chest. Freddie only frowned deeper and crossed his arms after re-capping the thermometer. Brian couldn't feel guilty for being a bit sick, even if he wanted to be. He needed to be there for Roger; Roger was the one who was important. He needed remedy. He was still recovering from his suicide attempt and his re-broken ribs, how could a congested chest be deemed more important than that?

"Brian, you have a high fever. I'm surprised you're even up right now." The oldest criticized. 

"What do you want me to say? I feel alright, my chest is a little stuffy but that's all. Can we drop this now, Fred?" He replied in a hasty tone while his breathing became a bit labored.

"Could you just...Lay down? So he won't have a fit?" John called from the table while he leaned back and stretched over the oak chair he was sat in.

Brian wanted to reject the idea but when he saw the blonde on the sofa beginning to make him a spot, he decided a small lay down wouldn't hurt. If he could get Freddie  _and_ John off of his back it would be worth it so he could get back to the person who warranted the extra attention. When he laid down, Roger pulled his fingers into his long curly hair with a gentle smile that pulled a slight grin out of him as well.

"Sorry you're not feeling very well." He mentioned while he ran his fingers through the hair, massaging his head comfortably. Brian was beginning to feel a bit more tired, but it could have been from the lack of sleep he'd had in the passing days and not the fact Roger was making him all too cozy.

"I'm good, really. Just a bit tired."

Roger smiled knowingly and winked in the direction of John and Freddie who kept to themselves but smiled as they knew the brunette couldn't see. It wasn't long until Brian was beginning to nod off wearily, his head tucking into Roger's shoulder perfectly. He continued to run his fingers through the thick head of hair even when he began to snore lightly, twitching every few moments which made them all glad he was finally getting rest.

He'd thought he'd been sneaky with his lack of self-care, but they all were aware he was taking less time for himself. Roger felt sorry enough about it in the beginning but when he noticed how many times a night Brian would shuffle downstairs just to check his pulse and get something to drink to keep himself awake, he knew that he hadn't been sleeping well. He'd often wake with two fingers pressed against his wrist but he never alerted his friend that he was awake. He would hear a quiet sigh of relief, followed by a kiss on his forehead when Brian was sure he was living.

It gnawed at his insides. He shouldn't be checked to see if he was a corpse yet. He knew it was hurting Brian more as sometimes when he wouldn't be able to get his fingers in the correct position he'd panic and place his hand on his neck instead. It was a wonder how he never realized he was awake at that point, but he'd always stay a little longer to make sure he kept breathing. Sometimes he'd even talk to him. Small things about his thoughts here and there, some stories he hadn't told Roger about his time away. He never thought Roger was awake and listening but it felt nice to be speaking to him.

Of course, Roger told John, who then told Freddie who was more frustrated than concerned. Brian was always a bit of an insomniac, he'd stay up every day and night begging for sleep to come until he was knocked off of his feet by a sudden wave of exhaustion. Hearing that he wasn't  _allowing_ himself sleep was worse to see than hearing a heavy thud of his body catching his mattress or the furniture after days of restlessness. Roger was told multiple times by both friends that it wasn't his fault Brian was so concerned, that he was doing it to himself, but there was a voice in his head telling him the opposite.

If he wasn't in the home, Brian would probably be resting and not be stressing himself to the point of illness. A horrible thought, but a thought indeed.

Brian's rest only lasted an hour until Roger noticed the quiet breathing in his ears had become labored wheezing. The younger man shuffled a bit and ran his hand firmly over Brian's chest to perhaps ease his tension, but he only caused him to wake up groggily. He sat up from his position and attempted to get a good breath in but each one was stubborn, chewing in his lungs. 

Brian placed a fist to his chest then to his mouth before beginning to cough harshly, a thick sounding hack coming from his chest. His back was stroked by Roger while John and Freddie neared closer, John breaking off to grab him a glass of water. He was beginning to panic a bit but he kept it under control- until he noticed he was leaving a trail of red liquid from his lips to his hand.

"Is that blood?" Roger fretted before Brian started to cough even more violently. He was forced to place his lower face into his elbow and shut his eyes as to attempt to get whatever it was congesting him  _out_. His hand smeared in blood made Roger rush even more, and he quickly turned around to Freddie. 

"Okay, we're going to the hospital," Freddie said in mild urgency while his friend bent over himself and hacked into his elbow without relief. It sounded as if something was inside of his lungs, blocking his windpipes and therefore causing his pain. Upon hearing his friend, Brian sat up and waved a hand, ceasing his coughing for a moment.

"No." He got the word out before another coughing fit racked his body and forced him to bend forward in agony. Sweat forming on his brow and paleness washing over him only made his case stack higher against his odds. Not to mention the fact he felt like he couldn't see very well from the spots rocketing through his vision.

"Yes, actually." 

The younger man shook his head and held back his body's next attempt to cough his intestines up which only hurt his throat more than the actual coughing. "N-No. I'm not.-" More intense coughing that brought up thick, blood-streaked mucus into his hands. Brian grimaced at himself and leaned his body into the couch roughly with sleep-heavy eyes. He just wanted to go back to bed. He was so tired.

"You need help to get to the car, Brian?" Roger asked him with a demeanor of false composure.

He didn't want to answer, he just wanted to stay in his comfortable position on the couch where he could attempt to hack up his lungs in peace. He was so tired but he was jolted awake when they began to see how he was shutting his eyes.

"Okay!" Brian shouted hoarsely. More coughing.

His arms were taken and he was hoisted up to be helped to the car. A box of tissues was in one of their hands, but he was far too tired a bit woozy to know exactly who's hands were holding them out to him. When he was inside of the passenger seat, Freddie getting inside of the drivers, he began to hum quietly in distress. It wasn't often that he complained openly so this wasn't taken lightly by the older man in the driver's seat who turned to him and shoved his tissues closer, his hand reaching to his forehead.

"We can't go to the hospital," Brian mumbled.

"Why not, darling? You need the care. They'll get you right." 

"No- No. I can't...Leave Roger. He needs me." He took a deep, hissing breath in. "W-What if something happens? What if he..."

He trailed off and rolled his eyes across the pavement below the car he could see from the window in deep thought. The pavement seemed to swirl under the sky's light and he was sure if he stepped out of the car that moment he would sink into the gravel.

What if he slips on his guts? What if he slices his wrists open and no one is around to fix him? What if he-

"You need to worry about  _you_ right now. You, Brian, are unwell. John can take care of Roger- you can even text him every second that we're there if that helps." 

It made him feel no different. John had less experience than Brian did in medical training but at least he knew to force Roger to lift his tongue when taking his medication. How do you expect an engineer to fix someone's ripped open chest cavity while it leaks intestines onto the floor? A mangled wrist? He was spiraling and he could feel it but it was almost unstoppable and he tasted the bile rising in his throat again but he clapped a hand over his mouth before he could allow himself the luxury.

"Hey, hey, look at me," Freddie smiled in concern but he was paling just like Brian was. "He's gonna be fine. You won't be fine if we don't go to the clinic, hm? Do you want to be hacking up a lung all day or do you want to trust me?"

Brian considered his selections. If he neglected his friend, Roger could die. If he didn't leave, he might die. At this point in his life the selection he would preferably have frightened him.

His silence was apparently taken as an answer when his friend started the car. Roger and John were stood in front of the doorway watching with concerned glances.

The entire journey to the hospital was spent in high tensions as Brian attempted to keep himself from ruining Freddie's leather seats with his illness and Freddie attempted to keep Brian calm when he continuously apologized of the coughing and nearly gagging. As soon as they entered the hospital's front doors, Freddie handed him a blue mask from a dispenser on a wall that he frowned at.

"Are you kidding me?" Brian asked while staring down at the paper mask in front of him.

"You're in a hospital, you're gonna get everyone here diseased if you don't wear one. Look, I'll do it!" He then put on the mask as well which made him look very unusual seeing it was below his mustache and he had to pinch the flexible metal against his ears. It did make him feel a bit better that his friend would wear one too. "Oh, see how we look like regular doctors!" He announced when Brian slipped his own mask on and fit it to his face. 

His fever was beginning to get to him and he began sweating not long after he'd received a wrist bracelet that signified that he was the patient. Freddie attempted to make jokes about, " _That's high fashion, dear. I should see if I could get one."_ to make him feel better. It made him force a smile, but all he could think of was how hot he was at the moment. He could feel the sweat on his back again and he was more than positive he couldn't have looked any better from the front especially with his friend constantly looking over at him in care.

"May, Brian?" A young doctor called from the doorway after only a few short minutes of waiting.

Brian wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for Freddie shaking him a bit and pointing at the man looking around the room. When they entered, he was a bit foggy-headed from the temperature rising in his body and he was beginning to regret not telling anyone sooner that he had begun to feel a bit ill, especially the night before when he was up late trying to get a good breath in. The nightmare he'd had felt all too real and he was now conscious it was most likely a product of his sickness, which didn't ease any anxiety he had about going to bed that night.

They measured his height and weight, the doctor commending him on his height just like every doctor he'd ever seen in his life, and took them to a room to be seated and checked out. The room was for children; that was obvious. The paintings of cats and dogs playing in peace lining the walls and the hot air balloon light-fixtures were all too revealing and he wondered why he hadn't gotten an adult room. Freddie had no such wonders as he smiled at the art surrounding them, pointing at the cats specifically with a smile Brian couldn't see through his mask but knew it was there by the way his eyes wrinkled slightly.

Brian's shirt was removed after the usual questions; " _Have you had any surgeries in the past?", "How long has your cough been bothering you?", "What color is your mucus?"._ The last question made him a bit grossed out about himself but he knew it was important to know, and the doctor scribbled away at a board while he described the yellow-green color mixed with the streaks of red. He seemed to take interest in the blood part, which neither man was sure was a good sign or a bad sign.

Brian was especially sweaty and the sharp lights only showed off how shiny his torso had become since arriving. A stethoscope was brought to his chest and moved about as he was told to inhale and exhale deeply but small coughing fits interrupted him more than once and he was beginning to get tired of himself because he knew the doctor had to be getting a little fed up with his constant need to re-check. After he got a good few wheezing breaths in without needing to rip open his lungs, the doctor made a small noise in the back of his throat in thoughtfulness.

"I can tell you now that your lungs have a fluid build up, which could be a sign of a few things."

 _Thank you Captain Obvious_ , Brian thought but listened anyway. 

"I'm going to order a blood sample and a lung function test to rule out any significant chest infections and pneumonia."

Brian was fine with needles, but he hated breathing tests. The blue tube going inside of his mouth while a white container was held in front of him by a nurse who looked overworked and overdone complimented him for moving a stupid line up and down with his breath was embarrassing. Not only that but they always made him puke right after and he wasn't in the best condition to be throwing up any more than he needed to be, especially when he was told blood-work would need to be done since he was already feeling like he could hardly walk.

"I hate needles," Freddie mentioned as soon as the doctor was out of the room, his eyes still scanning the kitten coated walls.

"Good thing they're not here to take _your_ blood then." His comment was dripping in annoyance but they both knew it wasn't directed at him personally.

"Well, it'll be fast, my love. You just get a little poke, a biscuit and water, and then you can take the breathing thing." He waved a hand when he couldn't remember the name of the lung function test. 

"Do you think John and Roger are okay?" 

"Would you like me to text?"

He thought about it. He didn't like the way he was being suffocated in attention today, and that's how they've been treating Roger since he arrived at the home which lead to him trying to skip town on a bus with a box of- He didn't like being babied and fussed over. Roger clearly didn't either, and he was an adult who could be trusted with John. They would be fine.

"No- I don't want him to think..." Brian lingered off into his own thoughts. His eyes dropped to the floor and he now noticed the way the tiles were lined in rainbows that contrasted against the white middles; another touch Freddie enjoyed while he felt a little weird.

"You know you aren't responsible for him, yeah?" Freddie carefully stated. He wasn't sure what emotion Brian was portraying at him but he looked a bit sad. 

Brian looked for the words while he ran a hand across his bare chest and slid his shirt back on. "No, you don't understand. It's complicated."

"Make it less complicated."

He wanted to, really he did. Freddie wasn't the one who saw Roger that night. The way he could hardly pick up his own head, the way he screamed in his sleep for people he didn't know and therefore couldn't bring to him, the way he was easily able to pull clumps of blonde hair into a brush, and finally the way he was only at peace when he was high on morphine and whatever else they sedated him with until he could hardly remember his own name or where he was. Freddie didn't understand the pain of seeing his best friend's heart monitor jump when he saw nurses and doctors enter the room, even if it was just for a small, non-invasive, check-in.

It was awful. The way his stare was vague and far away when he was conscious was enough but everything else that came with his trauma was all too intense.

"He wasn't Roger," Brian said with a frown concealed by the blue paper mask. "He wasn't even close to being the same person. It's like something took his soul from his body and replaced him, and I'm not sure he'll ever  _be_ Roger again."  
It must have been the fever because he started to tear up while he spoke. "God, Fred, it was dreadful. He couldn't sleep unless he was pumped full of sedatives- and even then he'd wake up screaming bloody murder. He was just a bit less aware of it."

There was a hand now resting on his thigh that he wasn't aware he was bouncing up and down. When he looked up he saw Freddie's expression of pure compassion which made his tears roll down his cheeks that the older man quickly wiped away.

"If you weren't there he would have ended his life as soon as he was out."  
"What you did- and are doing, is incredible. I don't think he would have made it this long without you. But, Brian, you need to worry about  _you_ sometimes. You can't save one life and neglect your own, that isn't how survival works. You're going to widdle yourself down to nothing and what will Roger have?"

Brian shook his head.

"He'll have a lot of guilt, and you don't want that, yeah?" 

He didn't. Freddie's blunt honesty was a hard slap in the face but in a good way. Brian didn't want Roger to feel like his illness is his fault- it was never his fault. He wanted to take care of him until he was better and he was completely ignorant to the fact that he needed to take care of himself a bit as well.

Brian ran a hand over his face that was wet with tears and put his hand on top of Freddie's. "I guess I've been a bit of a prat lately."

"A bit?" Freddie grinned again.

"Shut up, Fred."

They stayed in the comfortable silence while Brian ran his hand across Freddie's own. The touch was comforting, and he really needed it.

In university when Brian would get low or sulk in his bedroom for most of the day, Freddie and John would keep him company while he cried, slept, or just stared at the ceiling for hours. Freddie was a big fan of making him sleep on the living room sofa just so he could get a bit of sunshine on his face, but it was more about making sure he wouldn't wake up alone. His hands were always taken by the oldest and he'd run his fingers across the veins in his hands while humming quietly. It always made Brian feel better and it was his go-to when his friend went a little off of the deep end. It was like his off-button if he was in his head and couldn't get out.

Brian was beginning to feel a bit tired from the fever and now his crying and despite knowing it to be a bit unusual, all he wanted was to take a nap on the leather bed he was on. A nurse had another plan for him when she opened the door and guided them to the bloodwork room that was, once again, covered in stickers and painted to be cutesy. He was beginning to wonder if he was just unreasonably irritated from his illness or he had a right to have a distaste towards the decor of the hospitals interior. 

"You know last time we were here Roger got an adult room," Brian mentioned while he sat in the blue faux leather chair and put his arm out on the extended rest next to him in preparation.

"Are you cross about having a room with kittens on the wall?" 

"A bit."

Freddie laughed and that pulled a giggle out of him as well, which kind of threw him into another coughing fit but it was worth it this time, even when he had to catch his breath.

He could see women traveling back and forth in the back of the room where thousands of tubes must be being kept. They seemed relaxed despite the work they must be doing on a daily basis, and he wondered what it must be like to have a job where you pull blood out of sick people to run through a scanner- or whatever hospitals do.

"Okay, I'm gonna just steal a little of your blood now." A dainty nurse said with a grin while she prepared an alcohol swab and needle with a blue, rubber ribbon on it. If he wasn't afraid of shaking his arm he would have laughed so instead Freddie compensated. 

As soon as the needle was near his arm he felt a bit sick and Freddie looked even worse. Both were told not to look down at it when the injection occurred but, of course, they did and the oldest looked as if he was going to pass out. Brian's skin was a bit more sensitive with his fever up so the poke and sting he was expecting were much worse, and he gasped when it slid into his pale arm.

"Almost done." The nurse smiled as she took another two tubes and switched them with the filling glass container. He didn't know why they needed so damn much, but he was more focused on not passing out in the chair.

"Okay, see? Not bad at all. Just give us a little while and we'll have your results."

He was relieved it was over and he could bend his arm a bit despite the cotton ball taped to his inner arm but he was dizzier than anything else. He put his head in his other hand and managed a few short breaths to bring the flow of oxygen back to his brain, but he ended up needing Freddie's help to stand and return back to the room.

"All that and they didn't even give you a biscuit," Freddie complained when they were back in their room to now wait for  _another_ test. Brian laid himself down on the all too short hospital table that had paper coating the top which crinkled annoyingly when he made the smallest movement. "I'm gonna go to the vending machine and get you some juice and sweets, okay?"

Brian nodded absently while he picked at his cotton ball. A bit of blood formed on the bottom, and when he pulled it up the dried fluid pulled at his skin and left white fluff attached to his skin. He must have dozed off for a moment because when became aware again, he was being poked in the side by Freddie who was holding a bag of cookies and a grape juice.

"They just had chocolate chip but you're not picky." He mentioned while he set the things down next to him. 

Brian sat up and began to nibble on the miniature cookies sealed in a plastic bag while sipping on the juice. It did make him feel a bit better and he thanked his friend who bowed in return. The same doctor from before returned to the room holding exactly what Brian didn't want to see. A medium sized spirometer was in his hands, the blue tube dangling lazily from the front which gave him restless anxiety that he would be emptying his stomach soon. Brian had to use one as a kid when he had the flu that mostly was in his chest like it was now, and he could hardly stand to look at the damn things anymore without feeling a bit queasy.

"Just place this tube in your mouth and give a few breaths." The doctor instructed while handing the plastic device over as if Brian wasn't far too aware of how to use it.

He gently inserted the tube into his mouth and closed his lips around it before breathing out through his nose and inhaling as well as he could. There was a burning in his chest and he could hardly get the yellow bar above the first tick without needing to stop. Brian removed the tube and could already feel flipping in his stomach become worrying. He wasn't done though, that was only his first try. The second attempt created deep wheezing from his chest but he could just hardly get past the first tick painted onto the clear plastic front and he had to force himself to breathe out until all of the oxygen was out of his lungs to the point of aching.

"Okay, that's all I can do." Brian grimaced at the flavor invading his mouth and the feeling in his gut while holding out the plastic machine. When it was out of his hands he placed a palm against his abdomen and started to regret eating those biscuits.

"That should be enough. Your blood results should be back soon but if I'm going to assume based on your breathing and your chest I would have to say you have a chest infection. The fluid in your lungs, the wheezing, and the color of your mucus along with the cough are all cut and clear signs. Anti-biotics will be prescribed most likely, but we'll have to see once the results return."

Brian frowned. He had a chest infection and all he could think is that Roger was home without him probably feeling like it was his fault. Even more so, he'd been dealing with the cough for almost three days now. If he'd told anyone it could have just been the flu and now he was going to have to choke down anti-biotics that he didn't have a choice in taking and most likely be given his own spirometer. Again, he did not want that.

"Fuck me." He choked out before a violent cough racked his body. Freddie put a hand on his shoulder but he stood up quickly and bent himself over a bin by the door, hacking up the build-up that had made a home on the sides of his lungs after quickly removing his mask.

"It's alright, I'm still here." Freddie cooed while he held back Brian's hair. He didn't seem to be disgusted as he was with himself, which felt nice, but he also couldn't see his face and this was quite gross so he couldn't blame him if he was.

A shiver ran down his entire body and he felt himself heave into the bin heavily. A loud and heavy sound erupted from both his lungs and stomach while he gagged profoundly. It was ripping his throat to shreds, his lungs were on fire, and he could hardly keep himself balanced on his knees even with his forearms braced against the sides. When he finally found himself with an empty stomach he sat back on the floor and sighed in a pant because it was all he could manage. He could feel the sweat collecting on his forehead again and by Freddie's expression, he probably looked worse than he felt.

"What happened? You were fine a minute ago." His friend said quietly while helping him to his feet and back on the bed.

"Fucking spirometer. The- The plastic thing, Fred." 

Freddie's eyes widened. "That made you sick?"

Brian put his hands up in aggravation. "Happened when I was a kid too."

"You're just not having a great day, my love."

They could both agree on that, and it only got worse when the nurse came back holding a long sheet that he wasn't in the mood to hear about at the moment. She flicked through it until she found his file and forced a smile, scanning the results.

"Your blood work came back and we were pretty certain we knew what it was but we had to be sure. I'm sure you understand."

It frustrated him to learn that he didn't technically  _need_ to get his blood drawn, but he kept silent. Not because he chose to but because he could hardly breathe, much less sit up.

"Acute Bronchitis is what came back and what we suspected, and you'll just need to take it easy for the next few weeks. We're gonna send you off with an inhaler, some antibiotics, and a spirometer to help you see your progress." She was smiling throughout her explanation but Brian stopped listening past the words  _Bronchitis._

Even worse, this meant he'd be dealing with his cough for longer than he expected. Of course he wasn't lucky enough to get something small, his body _had_ to go for bronchitis.

The nurse left but returned only a moment later with a plastic mask attached to an electric box and a spirometer that looked similar to the one he'd had earlier but in green. He was perplexed but took both and inspected them. The mask was bulky and the box attached to it was worse.

"That's a nebulizer." The young woman said upon seeing his confusion. "It's so you can inhale the medication, and it should clear up your lungs a bit."

Brian furrowed his brow. "You said it was going to be an inhaler."

She only gestured at the machine. He was expecting an inhaler like Roger had, not something that looked like it belonged to a terminal patient. The nurse helped show him each piece of the machine but each item was already secured tightly into the correct place. There was an over-the-mouth mask that had a long tube running down the bottom and a rubber, stretchy string attached to the sides to pull over the head. The machine was called a compressor and there was a place to insert the medicine that he was also given, and it smelled awful.

The back of the compressor had a slot for batteries which Freddie made a small noise of interest upon seeing. She helped Brian insert the liquid medicine into the holder at the end of the mask and slide it in followed by then inserting the tubing. He slid the mask over his face and he instantly felt ridiculous. He looked and felt like he was some moron with a much worse illness than he really did, but he wasn't going to express his discomfort in front of the medical staff.

Once they were finally allowed to leave, Brian removed the mask from his face hastily and attempted to get the plastic hospital bracelet off of his wrist without success. Freddie stopped him and gave him a glare.

"Put the nebula back on." He scolded in his best attempt to be intimidating despite standing below Brian.

"It's a nebulizer."

"Put the fucking thing on I don't care what it's called."

Brian stared down at him for a moment, just seeing what he'd do. Freddie rolled his eyes and took the mask from him before holding it out. 

"Don't be such a child, Brian. You remember what he talked about earlier?" 

Now he was being guilt tripped. He hated when he did that because Freddie knew it would always work. Brian slipped the mask back on his face and shoved the spirometer into his friend's arms then followed up by turning the actual machine on. A smooth coolness he'd felt earlier ran through the mask and into his nose and mouth, giving him a flavor of icy staleness that made his lips a bit dry. It did feel a bit better on his lungs.

"See? That wasn't so hard. Now you won't ruin my leather seats." Freddie grinned and gave him a clap on the back that ached his chest.

When they got back in the car Brian felt a little overwhelmed. He hadn't texted to check in on Roger and John all day, and it was nearing sunset. They'd been in the hospital for so much longer than he'd thought; his nap must have been longer than he'd been believing. What if they were worried? Roger could have done anything by this moment and John could be losing his mind in worry.

"I'll tell them we're on our way home, hm?" Freddie said.

Brian nodded but stayed silent, not wanting to waste his breath.

 

* * *

 

 "What is that thing on your face?" John asked as soon as they entered the door. Very blunt and to the point, just as the pair entering the home had come to expect. Roger, however, was more concerned and jumped from his place on the sofa to inspect Brian from head to toe.

"What is that? Did they take blood? What's  _that_ _?"_ Roger asked quickly when he noticed everything they'd brought. First the mask and machine, then the bandage on his inner arm, then the spirometer. It was all very concerning shown by how his fingers traced all over his face in concern while the taller man stood and allowed him to get his curiosity out. Roger stopped and leaned in, sniffing the air near Brian's mask before squinting in confusion.  
"Is that an inhaler?" 

Brian couldn't help but smile a little at his knowledge but it wasn't a big surprise seeing he'd be the one to know what it would smell like. 

Roger appreciated how Brian looked at the moment. A bit of color had returned to his face and lips and he seemed to be breathing less manually and smoother which was a good sign. They moved to the couch and Brian sat down with a satisfied smile. He was finally home, and it felt really good.

"He has bronchitis," Freddie said from the kitchen before bringing Brian a glass of water. John grimaced in sympathy while Roger got closer to him and ran a hand down his leg. "That's a nebula-"

"Nebulizer."

"That's a nebulizer."

The two shared glances and smiled at one another. 

"So he's contagious?" John asked with guilt while glancing around the room for an answer. Brian glanced toward Roger who moved back away from him but kept his hand on the heel of his socked foot. 

"I didn't think of that," Freddie admitted. He wasn't speaking about himself, he'd happily get ill for his best friend if it meant he would be able to care for him, but it did make him feel guilty as he knew Brian wouldn't be able to get too close to Roger since his immune system was weakened significantly. "Brian I don't think you should be near Roger unless you're wearing a mask."

Brian didn't want to agree, but he had to. If he got Roger ill they'd be bargaining with a greater issue than bronchitis for the blonde not simply because his immune system took a heavy blow during his years away and in recent events, but also because he was asthmatic and it could possibly kill him.

"That sucks," Roger said while he moved himself to the other side of the couch. He could really use a hug from Brian and he wasn't aware how much he wanted one until he wasn't allowed to have one.

"That does suck." Brian agreed.

The brunette removed his mask and turned the machine off then licked his lips. They were dry but he felt able to breathe once again with a quieter hissing than that morning.

Freddie told them about their day, using dramatic hand gestures and spicing the entire day up for emphasis while he made Brian, John, Roger, and himself something to eat. Brian was always the one to make the food for the family but he was too ill and too infectious to make their meals, so they all had to put their trust in Freddie.

It felt like he was in quarantine because he was sat on the couch, cross-legged and facing the kitchen with a plate of boiled red potatoes and microwaved rice while his friends were at the table. He couldn't eat at the table because of being contagious and they each felt just as bad about it as he did.

"So how did you two's day go? I see neither of you set our home on fire and John wasn't glued to the ceiling. I assume it went well." Freddie mentioned through a mouthful of potato with a smile covered by his hand.

Roger smiled while John tensed up. Brian hadn't been looking because he was too focused on trying not to choke to death on his own lungs from breathing too strongly. Freddie had been, and he ran a hand over John's hand in concern but stayed quiet while Roger explained how they watched a few movies and he and John had a generally good day.

After dinner, they all planned on relaxing throughout the living room but Brian had begun to feel the pressure of his fever returning and he got quite tired quite fast after taking a few pills for the headache he knew he was going to be getting soon. John, Freddie, and Roger sat downstairs without him per his request and watched TV while he went to bed.

Brian got undressed and into a cleaner pair of boxers before crawling into bed with a small, satisfied sigh that only ached his chest for a moment. He placed his nebulizer back on his face and turned the machine on which soon filled the noiseless room with a small whirring sound that calmed his nerves a bit while he inhaled the medicine.

He picked at the cotton swab remaining on his arm and ran his finger over the sticky skin left behind from the hospital tape before turning to his side carefully, not wanting to close the tubes airway to the mask, and looked around his dark nightstand. A photo of his mom and dad rested by it, and a smaller photo of Roger tucked inside of the front was just hardly visible.

Roger's hair was shorter then, and he was wearing a cap and gown with a shit-eating grin on his face while he held up a pair of middle fingers to his old school. Brian loved that photo because he was the only one to attend his graduation, even Roger's sister hadn't shown up, and Roger was genuinely very happy that day despite the odds.

When Roger was dressing in one of the school's bathrooms alone he was crying. The only thing he could hear when he walked down one of the now-empty hallways was his boyfriends weeping, and he knew it was him by the sound of it. As soon as he knocked on the door, Roger stopped and opened it before bursting into a grin upon seeing him.

"Are you allowed to be in here?" Roger asked and gestured to the roof above his head as Brian had graduated a bit of time before.

"Well, if I'm not I guess we'll find out," Brian replied with a laugh. Behind his back was a bouquet of white roses and as soon as he held them out, Roger took them with a gasp that covered his sadness.

"Oh my god, Bri!" He shouted while taking them in his arms.

Roger, still half dressed and face a mess, walked back into the bathroom and locked the door behind them. He set the roses down and continued to dress while smiling this time. 

"I didn't think you were gonna come. Did you see my mom? Clare?"

Brian frowned. The blonde knew the answer to both of his questions now and it hurt a lot. His own family wouldn't be showing up to graduation- but he did stop living with them when he was seventeen. It was somewhat reasonable. Maybe they even forgot.

"But," Brian smiled, picking Roger's chin up. "I'm here. Hm? Old man me in your school?"

Roger grinned again with a laugh. "You're twenty, Brian."

"You said it yourself! Are you gonna get dressed so you can finally say 'fuck you' to this school for the last time or what?"

And get dressed he did. Brian sat in a silver plastic bleacher seat waiting for his boyfriend to walk across the grass of the football field where students gathered and received diplomas after their names were called and when he saw him, he was practically drowning in his cap and gown. Tripping every few steps, he looked over the crowd to see Brian holding his flowers up and a camera in his hand, taking as many photos as he could to remember the moment.

Roger turned to a friend behind him, Crystal, and pointed at Brian who then waved at his friend as well who waved back enthusiastically. The photo of both of them grinning and waving was his second favorite photo of the day.

When Roger's name was called and he was handed a diploma, he gave a polite bow and shook the hands of every teacher he had but excluded one who he never liked. As soon as he was off of the stage he didn't stick around for the student's speeches about ' _We loved this school..."_ blah, blah, blah. Instead, he jumped into a sprint and ran off of the football field where they were holding the ceremony, hiking up his gown and displaying his pair of pink basketball shorts which made Brian blush madly while everyone surrounding him stared at the blonde running.

At first, Brian was confused and a bit worried what he was doing but after only a few moments, two hands were clapped around his face and he was being yanked back for a sloppy kiss right in the middle of his face where his nose met his eyes.

"I'm bored with being here and I'm no longer this school's problem, lets fucking go!" Roger yelled loud enough for the surrounding area to hear while tugging on Brian's arm. The older man complied and they raced out of the area, both laughing when Roger kept almost falling straight on his face, and stood in the general front area of the school.

"Take a picture of me giving the school what it needs."

Brian held up his phone and smiled while watching Roger squat down, open his legs, give an excited expression, and then stick both of his middle fingers up.

That photo had been printed that day along with the rest of his graduation photos but they were somewhere in his phone's memory and an old scrapbook most likely deep in a storage unit. The original print was now resting in his glass frame right next to the photo of his parents and him.

Brian removed the mask from his face and turned the machine off. He'd not realized he'd been crying but he ran his hands over wet cheeks and smiled while removing the photo from the frame, sticking it under his pillow for the morning where he could add it to his pocket along with the marble.

He could feel himself starting to fall asleep peacefully but only after a few moments he heard his door open and weight pull down the side of the mattress. A hand ran across his forehead gently and he rolled to his side, his eyes cracking open only slightly enough to see Freddie looking back at him with a solemn expression.

"I wanted to wait until the morning, but John thinks this is important."

Brian nodded sleepily.

"I think we need to talk about Roger."

Brian was now much more alert and sat up best he could without moving his lungs and therefore knocking himself into another attack. Freddie's expression softened a bit and he ran a hand over his thigh.

"Don't worry we're not trying to get rid of him, darling." He smiled weakly.

"What's going on?"

Freddie looked away from Brian and thought over his choices before looking back and pinching the fabric of his friend's blanket anxiously. "Um, well. John found something in his bag today. He was cleaning and it just fell out, he wasn't being a snoop."

Brian knew exactly what he was talking about but let him continue as he was suddenly too cold to move.

"It was just a small box of razor blades. None of them seemed to be used, Brian." Freddie got up on the bed further upon seeing his reaction. "We haven't told Roger about this yet. We thought you ought to know, however."

He shakily sighed and smiled a bit, almost creepily. "Okay. Okay, thank you for telling me."

"Are you alright?" 

Brian couldn't get another word out before he started crying again. Freddie pulled his arms around him and held him close, his friend trying to pull back a bit.

"Stop, Fred, I'm gonna get you infected." He mumbled weakly but made no more effort to get out of his embrace.

"Oh, don't be mad. That's nonsense come back." Freddie pulled him back into a tight hug and felt his shoulder become increasingly wet while he cried quietly.

He hoped this was just another fever dream because he wasn't sure he could handle facing this head on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So finding out that when you have bronchitis that you need to do a spirometer test and even get one for home use i might have died. I had a spirometer as a kid for my scoliosis because my spine went into my lungs and all that good stuff and EVERY DAMN TIME I WOULD USE IT I WOULD THROW UP RIGHT AFTER WITHOUT FAIL. I also had no idea he'd need to get blood drawn so that sucks I felt bad about that but it was too late lmao. I know a nebulizer isnt always used for bronchitis but i needed it for the plot and i thought hey if it adds drama lets do it. AnYWAY. Thank you so much for reading <3 I love comments and i THRIVE off of them, when i get a comment i get so happy so maybe leave me one? if you wanna talk to me my twitter is @wickedwilybrian  
> Oh also i saw Rocketman and...it was so goddamn good i cant wait to watch it 50 more times


	10. Someone Saved My Life Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian, Roger, and Freddie have a discussion. Secret keeping and revealing ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets real. This didn't take too long but GOD this chapter stressed me the fuck out let me telly ou. I forced myself to finish it today because at 6 am (its 12:18 am as i write this) i have to get up and sit my ass in a car for 8 hours to go to virginia to visit my uncles and grandparents which im excited about bc theyre cool af and my uncles are cool af but still 8 hours with my dad driving, my mom in the back with her baby, and my sisters 3 year old ??? GOOD LORD. I'll be gone until Sunday so please don't expect a new chapter until after then! I'll make the outline of chapter 10 while im in the car tomorrow and then write it as i go when I'm not busy with my uncles and shit having fun and all that cool stuff. My twitter is @wickedwilybrian so you can see what im up to there or just talk to me if u want? ANWYAY i hope yall enjoy this chapter, its very dramatic and a lot gets revealed because a couple of people have been hiding shit ;)

John sat by the door watching his friend's leave the home. Roger sat next to him anxiously running his hands through his hair and shuffling a bit on his feet that made even him a bit antsy. He put a gentle hand on the blonde's shoulder, more to get him to stop practically vibrating but also because he cares, and gave a smile.

"He's gonna be fine, Roger," John said gently.

"Yeah I know but...Hospitals make me nervous. They like to keep you longer than you need to be kept."

John nodded along. It was understandable where he's coming from. "One time I broke my hand and they kept me for an entire day but I had Brian's almond milk sitting out and when we came home it was bad."

Roger smiled just a bit. It wasn't an exciting story but it was entertaining enough coming from the quietest of the group. "How'd you break your hand?"

"Um, punched a window in," John replied absently while he picked up a broom and walked into the bathroom without another word or reason. 

Roger laughed low in his throat and made his way to the bed in the middle of the room then decided to help John in his light cleaning and made the bed back into a couch. He folded the blankets by tossing them on the floor and spreading his body while pinching the ends together. He finally placed the blankets on the side of the couch for later and sat down with a relaxed sigh.

"Rog?" John asked from the bathroom, his voice echoing.

"Mhm?"

"Can you do the dishes?"

Roger wanted to sigh when he saw the stack of dirty dishes inside the sink but he resisted and instead got up to begin washing them up. Inside the bathroom, John continued to sweep around each cabinet and the toilet itself all the while mumbling to himself about nothing in particular. As soon as he had a small pile of different colored and textured hairs, dirt, and other random debris on the floor in front of him he went in search for the dustpan which seemed to be nowhere to be found.

He was going to ask Roger if he was near it but the water running along with the music he'd put on his phone and was listening to through his headphones flooded his voice out. John's attention went to the stairs where the dustpan rested at the top of the stairs nearest to Freddie's room against the wall. He ran up the stairs and grabbed it before making his way back down, unintentionally knocking Roger's backpack down the last two steps where it had been placed and into the floor.

"Dammit, Roger." He mumbled as he picked up the items that had fallen out. His attention was piqued when he found a small box, white and blank but cracked open from the force. He knew he shouldn't have opened it but against his better judgment he did, and he instantly realized how serious it was when he found a pile of razor blades.

John quickly shoved the box inside of the bag and put the backpack back where it belonged on the stairs with anxious hands. He really wished he hadn't seen that. He peered up at Roger who was momentarily bobbing his leg up and down while he cleaned away at plates and cups, simply enjoying his time in ignorance that his hidden items had been discovered.

He went to the blonde's side and tapped on his shoulder, getting his attention. Roger made a gesture with his eyes towards his ear and John pulled out his headphone as the other's hands were wet and he gave a smile.

"I'm gonna go up to my room for a bit and talk to my girlfriend, okay?" John informed him. 

"Sure, have fun," Roger replied and John placed the earphone back into his ear, which was a bit uncomfortable for both of them.

Once John was inside his room he rested on his bed and hesitated to call Freddie. He needed to explain to him what he saw, and he wasn't about to call Brian and alarm him when he was already suffering, but he was hesitant. Roger was his friend and he cared about him, especially since he'd been dealing with things so serious lately without much of any guidance besides the men in the home, and he knew it would be the best option to tell Freddie and let him find a way to tell Brian without hurting him more.

It was a hard decision. Freddie could always be trusted to give trustworthy advice as he was the oldest and mother-liest of the group; always taking care of both he and Brian without a single complaint. It was almost out of body but suddenly he had his phone to his ear and the line was trilling. He didn't have time to think about hanging up when he heard Freddie's slightly frustrated voice over the line with a small, 'Hm?'

"Are you okay?" John asked first.

" _Yes, my love I'm just dealing with this ridiculous fucking hospital vending machine. Everything okay?_ "

There was a banging sound in the background followed by another firmer voice behind Freddie to which he promptly replied, " _You do your job I'm gonna get this bag of biscuits."_ If the situation wasn't so grim he would have laughed at his friend's brutal honesty at the, presumably, doctor who most likely told him to stop treating the vending machine like a punching bag.

"Um...Roger has been...Hiding something." John said slowly which made Freddie cease his banging and grow eerily quiet. "I think he's been...You know, hurting himself."

" _What do you mean?_ " Freddie asked coldly.

"I found a box in his backpack- a pack of razors. I didn't mean to- I was just cleaning, I promise. God, Fred, what do I say?"

" _Don't talk to him alone wait until we get home and I'll tell Brian. He got blood taken and he's a bit out of it, I believe he's asleep right now. I don't need him panicking and possibly hurting himself further._ " He paused to think before continuing. " _Did it look like they were used? For anything?_ "

John was a bit confused. "For anything?"

" _We don't really know him, John. A lot changed between when we met Brian and now, unmistakably. He could possibly be taking drugs_."

He hadn't even thought of that but it seemed unlikely. "I don't think so, Fred. I think we'd notice."

" _It's just a thought._ " A heavy sigh followed. He didn't believe his own words but he needed to have open possibilities just in case. There were, after all, multiple uses for a razor blade. " _Okay, for now just keep an eye on him especially if he goes for his backpack. If he seems a little suspicious call me and I'll come home, okay?"_

John made a small noise of confirmation.

" _Okay, I have to go. I love you."_

"I love you too. Tell Brian I hope he feels better."

When he hung up the phone he felt a bit of the weight off of his shoulders but not enough to soothe him completely.

Freddie stood in the middle of a bustling hallway of doctors and nurses, wondering how he'd be telling Brian what his friend had in his private items. How do you even begin?  _We think your suicidal best friend and possible boyfriend might either be trying to slice open his veins or possibly fashion himself a line of blow. Hope you aren't dying of lung cancer, though!  
_

It wouldn't be easy telling him, and when he entered the room again he was correct in his theory that Brian was asleep. He had his arm tucked under his head and his lower half was dangling over the edge of the too-short bed. His mouth was open but his breathing was audible even through the bustling hospital right outside the entrance to their room, wheezing and hissing breaths that made Freddie almost believe he wasn't getting enough air despite his chest rising and falling. Despite looking pale and miserable, even in his sleep, he looked content and absolutely exhausted.

Freddie waited almost two hours, thankful the doctor hadn't returned in that time most likely from the business of the clinic, before waking Brian to give him his snacks.

"They just had chocolate chip but you're not picky." He set the items next to his body.

He could tell Brian later when he didn't look ready to drop off at a gust of wind.

* * *

 Freddie and Brian sat together in the bed for a long time, simply reflecting together. Freddie wanted to tell him his prior knowledge, blissfully unaware that Brian had known for much longer, but he felt guilty having known all day long while he was in the hospital. He could hardly breathe at the moment, and he didn't want to risk Brian raising his voice and hurting himself further, so he stayed silent on the subject. 

There was fog in Brian's mind at the moment. He wondered why he didn't just approach Roger when he saw them for the first time in the hospital. Maybe he could have gotten him help right then. He would hate to go back to the psych ward, and he'd hate to be the one to put him there, but maybe it would be the healthiest for him. It was troublesome. 

"Do you think he's gonna hurt himself?" Brian asked quietly.

Freddie moved closer to him and laid diagonally on the end of the bed on top of Brian's legs. "I don't know, my love."

"What if I wake up one day and he's...Done something? Something we can't fix. Wouldn't that be my fault?"

There was a pause in consideration. "Why do you believe it would be your blame?"

"I don't know." He did. "I just...I don't want him to end up cremated when he's only twenty-three."

He felt a loving pat across his legs through the blankets. "I know, dear. It's gonna be hard, and perhaps harder than it was when he first arrived, but we'll get him through this."

It felt good to hear that, and it did help a bit to ease the tension in his shoulders he'd been holding in. Brian turned to his side, carefully maneuvering his legs with him even under Freddie's back, and tapped his hand against the plastic box next to him.

"I think I'll sleep. Are you staying here?" Brian asked but masked his need for his friend to stay. It must have been a poor attempt because the older man looked over to read his expression.

"Of course I will."

Brian nodded and dragged his blanket over his shoulder, murmuring a soft goodnight to his friend that was returned.

* * *

In the morning he roused alone. The spot on the end of the bed where Freddie had been the previous night was still warm to the touch which meant he'd left not long ago. When Brian sat up he felt everything he hadn't been able to cough up in his sleep suddenly block his throat, forcing him to lurch forward and begin coughing fiercely and abruptly. It ripped his already raw throat to shreds again and along with the mucus was more flecks of blood that he wiped on his shoulder with a grimace.

He sat in bed for a bit longer simply gripping his chest and attempting to get a solid breath in. His chest felt like it had a weight on it and sweat was running down his back from his high fever along with a headache from the force pushed on him from the coughing that continued, but less intense.

Finding the courage to go downstairs was harder than he'd like to admit. He wanted to see Roger, of course, but he felt like the house was going to be uncomfortable around him now that everyone knew his secret. He wouldn't even be able to hold him without the risk of getting him ill, which was the last thing they needed right now.

There was a quiet knocking on his door but he didn't move to see who it was, even when he saw the door open and someone step inside before closing it again. There was a weight pulling his bed down again but this time there was touch to back it up. He turned around and furrowed his brow at Freddie next to him, staring at him like he was dying.

"You look absolutely frightful, darling. Are you okay?"

Brian turned back around and fumbled for his phone that was nowhere in view. "What time is it?"

"Noon. I tried to wake you earlier but you weren't looking well- not that you look great now."

"Gee, thanks, Fred. You know just how to make me feel good."

He then received a far away and hardly-feelable pat on the side. "Just being honest. Roger's stirring, if you wanted to see him."

"Why wouldn't I?"

Freddie paused for a moment and used his hands to find the words. "Well, you seemed horribly upset last night."

He suddenly felt a bit shallow staying in his bed brooding and feeling poor for himself when he wasn't the one who should be worried for at the moment. He needed to be there for Roger- not himself. He could take cough syrup, put on his mask, take a cough drop, and be fine but you couldn't just put a bandaid on someone's brain to make them better. 

"I'll come down," Brian sat up and ran his hands through his hair. "How long's he been up?"

"Few hours. Had breakfast, even made you some. He's been worried." There was a faint smile on Freddie's lips when he mentioned that Roger had made the brunette breakfast.

Roger couldn't microwave burrito if his life depended on it, so hearing he made him breakfast was a little scary.

"Worried about _me_?" He sat out of bed and stretched which made his vertebrae crack. "He needs to take this more seriously."

"Are you sure you don't need to take this more seriously?" Freddie sought when he saw the way his friend's shirt clung to his back from the sweat running down the middle and sides. Brian rolled his eyes and turned back around, using the bed as a balance.

"Freddie not this again. I'm very aware I'm sick, okay? I know. I think Roger's situation is a bit more important than a cough, though. Yeah?"

His friend stood as well. "You're not just sick; you have bronchitis. If you don't take care of yourself you'll end right back up in the clinic, dear. Do you want that?" 

"I don't want Roger ending up in a clinic when he tries to kill himself again, Fred. I can take care of myself." Brian gave a bitter smile and made his way downstairs using the hand-rail as a guide on his shaky legs. As soon as Roger saw him he smiled and got up from the couch to greet him, but realized as soon as he did that he couldn't.

"I made you breakfast and I actually didn't burn it which I think Freddie was worried about because he kept turning down the burner." Roger smiled proudly and for a moment it almost looked like he was genuinely happy, which made Brian happy.

"I'd be kind of upset if you burned my house down so thank you, Rog." Brian looked around the room for somewhere to sit until he spotted the kitchen table, settling himself there for the moment as to avoid infecting the things everyone sits on. There was a cloth mask ahead of him with Roger's name sewed on the front, and when Freddie saw his gaze meeting it, he smiled and picked it up for him.

"I made these for everyone so they won't catch your disease! You have one too, of course, dear, fear not." Freddie beamed while explaining and went to one of the kitchen drawers full of sewing supplies to grab Brian his own cloth mask, this one blue with yellow letters of his name with a small heart next to the N in his name. The mask was tossed at him and he put it on, Roger turning around and giving a thumbs up.

"Have you taken your medication today?" Brian asked, cutting the conversation while Roger was paying attention. His expression dropped and he put his hand back on the back of the couch with a frown.

"Not yet." The blonde replied.

"Could you do that for me? It would help."

Roger suppressed a smirk. "Taking my pills are gonna cure your bronchitis, then?"

"We won't know unless we try," Brian said back playfully.

Even though the cloth mask covering his face the wrinkles under his eyes showed he was smiling, even if it was just a bit. Roger got up with a sigh as if it was the most laborious thing he'd ever done and moved to the cabinet where he pulled the long rectangle of organized medication out. He placed it on the counter and counted the days in his head before opening the Tuesday square, taking out four differently shaped and colored capsules. He never liked taking the meds- not that he was being negatively affected by them, they did help, but he simply didn't like the idea of being out of control of himself.

He'd never been truly in authority of his emotions even as a kid. If he was sad, he cried. If he was mad, he hit things or shouted at whoever was closest. If he was feeling anything there wasn't anything going to hold him back from expressing the emotion he was feeling, even himself. Brian was often the victim of his outbursts as they had lived together for quite some time but he never minded. He knew how Roger worked and he knew if he just let him get it out it would end soon and he'd be walking back into the bedroom or wherever Brian was with an apology.

Arguments would erupt notably when he was told by anyone that he might be manic. His family had known for quite some time that their son could be bipolar, even Brian's parents knew. Roger seemed to refuse the simplest notion he might be having a manic episode at any point even when it was clear. He'd go weeks without a single bad day, too happy to stop, and suddenly out of the blue, he was too depressed to get out of bed and wouldn't let anyone talk to him without snapping in frustration. That would go on for weeks on end and he wouldn't have another episode for long periods of time which made him believe he couldn't be suffering from bipolar disorder. 

When he saw the scribbled note ' _Bipolar D'_ on his medical chart right underneath the list of his medical issues the nights after the incident, it made him hate himself a bit more. He never wanted to know and no one could convince him he'd had it, but it seemed set in stone that he was crazy. He was truly trying not to think like that anymore but as he stood in front of his medicine, Brian and Freddie near him and watching him like he would swallow them all if they looked away, he felt crazier than he'd felt in weeks.

Roger took them, though. One by one he took them with water from the sink which was progress enough despite how insane and on-display he felt. Once he was finished he closed the plastic container and turned to Freddie and opened his mouth, stuck his tongue out, and then put his fingers in his mouth to pull his cheeks to show there was nothing inside. When he received a hesitant and accepting nod from Freddie, who wasn't the one to normally be checking if he took his pills, he turned to Brian who looked surprised.

"What?" Roger asked in confusion.

"Nothing," Brian dismissed the thought with a wave of his hands. "that's just the first time you've done that without me asking. I'm proud of you."

Roger couldn't help but smile a little. It felt kind of good to be told that someone was proud of him, even if he wasn't proud of himself.

The hours of the day were spent with awkward glances between Freddie and Brian, unsure how or when approaching the topic. Brian had only left the room to grab his nebulizer when he felt particularly congested, but aside from that, they stayed in the room waiting for the right time.

John didn't show himself until the later hours of the day when he walked through the front door, his arms full of groceries and on the phone with his girlfriend who'd seen mere minutes before when he dropped her off at her home. As soon as he saw Roger, he looked away and stared at the other two men who shook their heads. Obviously not wanting to be apart of the conversation, John took the groceries, put them away, and went to his room with a guilty stare at the ground in front of him.

It was only when Roger returned from the front porch after a smoke that they decided to approach the conversation.

"Roger?" Brian said suddenly. Roger looked up cautiously, the pack of cigarettes still in his hand, and ping-ponged his stare between the two men sitting at the table like he was about to have a chat about curfew.

"Brian?" He answered in a lightly mocking tone, a small smile on his face from nervousness.

"I think we need to...Talk."

Roger quickly got deeply worried and it showed by his face suddenly flushing. He fumbled with the pack of smokes in his hand, shoving it into his pocket, and put his hands out to his side to gesture that he was calm despite the way they shook lightly. Maybe it was nothing, maybe he was over-reacting and he was about to be asked why he's being so odd. He took a seat at the table and put his hands on the table to seem more casual.

"I found something in your bag." Brian started. Roger was visibly more uneasy, but he put his hands in his lap and leaned in just in case he was proven wrong. He didn't want to give any clues that something dangerous might be in his personal things.

"I wasn't snooping, it was an accident. I found a box of razors in your bag."

Roger sat forward and looked a bit sick. His breathing was audible and his hands went to his hair, pulling the blonde strands between his index finger and thumb anxiously. He was looking down at the wooden table below him and he felt like he was spinning already despite only been told he'd been caught moments before.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'm really really sorry." The blonde shuddered. His fingers worked quickly into the darker roots of his hair and he looked up, his expression changing completely. "Why did you go through my sack? Are you my fucking dad? I don't have privacy now on top of everything else?'

Brian stared at him with a blank expression. That was a lot to process and Roger was already becoming hostile which meant he'd have a harder time speaking to him. "Everything else?"

"I can't do anything without you having a bloody stroke, Brian. I go outside and you act like I'm gonna get hit by a fucking meteorite."

"Everything I've done is to keep you safe, Roger. The last time you went out by yourself you almost took a goddamn bus to get away from here and look at what happened." He gestured at Roger's chest, his own chest beginning to feel tighter.

They paused for just a moment, Freddie running his hand over Brian's arm until he pulled it away without a word. 

"I wasn't looking through it. I saw the box, your backpack was open. I wish I had looked through it myself because then I would have realized sooner you were-"

"Untrustworthy?"

"Suicidal. Again."

Roger's mouth shut and he looked genuinely offended. It was unclear if he was angry or sad, but he began crying with his jaw tensed near painfully which was a manifestation of being perhaps both. He put his hands over his face and only came back out with more tears running down his cheeks. His face was red and white, splotchy against his already paled skin, and he put a fist to his chin to hold his head up.

"I was suicidal when I hurled myself off a bridge. Now, I just want to feel something again." He admitted wearily. His gaze went back to the table and the action provided more warm tears to stream below his cheeks to his neck. "God I just want to feel anything but  _this._ But I haven't even touched those blades."

Brian forced himself to look away from his best friend. His throat felt tight, his chest tighter, and he could feel his own tears welling in his eyes. Crying would only stop up his nose and would leave him unable to breathe but the sight in front of him was overwhelming every inch of him that screamed at him to embrace Roger until he couldn't breathe either. His hands went to the rubber mask of his nebulizer abandoned alongside him and he rested his fingertips on the edge of the compressor.

"You said you'd talk to me, Roger. We had an agreement." 

Roger didn't look up and his fingers stretched to pull at his hair. "I don't know what you want me to say. It's a bit late now, isn't it, Brian? Freddie?" He glanced at the two men in front of him while he said their names before returning to the table. He wanted to vanish at that moment and he wondered if he believed hard enough he could put his life on hold for just minute while he caught his breath and found the words to say.

"I just want you, for once in your life, to care about yourself, Roger! Just for a moment!" Brian commanded, his voice rising higher than he'd meant. Roger recoiled with his eyes closing and body jumping and he had no time to calm him back down before he was forced to remove the cloth mask Freddie had given him in favor of digging his mouth into his elbow and coughing forcefully. It felt like his lungs were going to collapse.

"Maybe we should talk about this later," Freddie said while running his hands up and down Brian's back.

Brian shook his head in between coughs and when he was a bit safer to speak again, he lifted his head and took a loud hissing breath with hooded eyelids. His hand gripped the nebulizer and he pressed the mask against his face without bothering to stretch the rubber elastic band over his head. "I'm sorry, Roger. I didn't mean to yell at you. I just want you to care about yourself."

He was more concerned about the way his friend had gone placid than the way his arms were now wrapped around his legs in front of him. A sorrowful expression was over his face and his hands were clearly shaking, but no longer in his hair yanking the strands.

It was always something Brian avoided with Roger, no matter how enraged he'd get he'd never shout at him. Roger could shout all he needed, that was something he did frequently, but if he was yelled at he would crumble and panic. Years of traumatic abuse and repressed memories were something that continued to affect him, even at age twenty-three. Even now as he sat in front of Brian and Freddie.

"I don't know if I can."

That could have broken his heart right then but it was only made worse when Roger's head went forward and he pressed the bottom half of his face into his knees with a strangled sob. Brian wasn't sure he could even get the words out, he was going to sound harsh and just like Roger's father which would only make the situation so much worse. 

"Pretend." He asked of him quietly. 

Roger looked up but instead of crawling further into himself, Brian's suggestion seemed to have made sense to him and he began to run his hands through his pockets with his brows furrowed while the other men watched anxiously. Their concerns were confirmed when he suddenly pulled out a razor blade, this one smaller but from a similar company to the ones from the box, and put it on the table gently. When he caught the look of Freddie and Brian, he slid it down to the opposite end of the table.

Brian placed his hands over it and picked it up gently. It was uncommonly sharp which was a sign of the blade most likely being unused.

"Is it used?" Freddie coaxed this time.

Roger shook his head.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded his head and started to whimper lowly in the back of his throat when his friends exchanged unconvinced glances. He wanted to shout at them for not believing him, but even he knew how suspicious this looked.

"I only have that because it wouldn't go back in the box. It wouldn't close and I didn't want it being loose in my backpack just in case anyone...Looked through my bag."

Brian hadn't noticed anything off about Roger's behavior lately besides the obvious. There had been no blood, no bandages with anything more than the usual discharge and leaking which had begun to fade with the rest of his major cuts from the fall, and no proof on his body that he'd done anything to himself. Then again, had he been  _looking_ for obvious signs? He should have been. God, he should have been. He couldn't even tell if Roger was deceiving them right now. Couldn't tell if ' _The box wouldn't close'_ was a good enough excuse.

Brian couldn't hold back now and he sighed as deep as he could, allowing the tears that had been making the rock in his throat unbearable now run down his face and rubber mask. Freddie took his hand despite his attempts to push away and looked to be holding back strong emotions too. 

"M' sorry," Roger whispered. A quivering hand was brought to his face and it remained on his cheek. "Really sorry." 

"D-Do you have any more?" Brian asked carefully. His voice broke halfway through and he forced himself to look away.

"No."

"Can we check your bag?" 

Roger hesitated. His look went behind him to the backpack sitting by the bathroom door by the staircase. "Yeah."

Freddie got up and made his way to the bag and brought it back to the table. He opened it and gently pushed the things inside of the bag out on the table. A plain white shirt, two packs of smokes, a marble, and a small plastic bin that looked to be duct-taped closed were in his bag. When Freddie picked up the plastic bin, Roger reacted by putting his head into his legs and quietly asking him to leave it alone, begging him.

"What's in the bin?" Brian asked. His nerves were a bit numb now and he determined to get to the bottom of the issue that night and not in a week when it might be too late.

"Just-  _Please_ don't open it. Please." He begged again. This time he swayed his head and peered up at the two of them. The absolute fear behind his eyes was more than enough to deter them from opening the bin, but it was also enough to be forced to crack it open and see what he was hiding. 

"Roger, tell us what's inside and we won't open it. We'll take your word for it." Freddie offered. 

Obviously, Roger was adamant on keeping his confidence because he refused to speak. He placed his head back into his knees and took a heavy, shaking breath. His entire body was quivering now and he couldn't seem to find enough oxygen in the room to help with the overwhelming sense of both getting sick and passing out. 

Brian looked at Freddie and nodded, giving him the 'okay' to open the small plastic container. He took the tape and peeled it back layer after layer, Roger wincing at each loud sound it made. Once they got down to the last layer they could hear a muffled clinking when they moved the box. Opening it was worse, however.

Looking back at them was a compressed pile of old, dry blood-crusted bandages and a small ring, too small to be his and too expensive as well. The green emerald jewel that sat in the middle of the item was rusted. Below everything was a crumpled piece of paper with red ink seeping through the folded paper.

"Oh my god." The oldest gasped upon seeing the items of the container.

Brian took the ring out and focused on it instead because he was sure he was about to be sick. "Who's is this?"

"Clares."

Oh. Brian put it on the table gently. He felt a bit light headed and he was forced to rest his head in his hands to gather up the energy to even sit back up. He was expecting this, but the reality was facing him too head-on; someone needed to pump the breaks already.

”Those are old I swear. You can check me.” Roger said hastily, moving very suddenly which made both of them jump. He placed his arms on the table and held up his wrists to show off clean skin besides the scars already present from cigarette burns and random injuries throughout his life. His breathing was turning into a pant and he winced with each breath as his lungs worked against his rib cage while his eyes darted manically between the two ahead of him.

”Why do you have this? What’s the letter?” Brian asked as calmly as he could. His fingers were running over the cool plastic of the box that was now shut. He was going to take Roger’s word that the bandages were old now, but he would be checking his body more closely later when Freddie wasn’t around.

”I kept the bandages just in case. I-I don't know. Maybe to remind me it happened? They're not all from...You know. Some of them are from fights. Other things.” 

They both understood, but it was still highly morbid. 

“The letter?”

Roger tensed up and rapped his fingers on the table. “I know you can’t trust me now, but I really need you to leave that paper alone.”

Brian thought about it. It couldn’t be much harm if it was simply a note to someone- perhaps a friend. His eyes scanned over the box and he weighed his options. Roger seemed genuinely worried he would open the letter on top of everything else he’d already discovered, so the older man nodded in agreement.

”Okay, that’s fine. Do you want it?”

Roger nodded. Brian slid the paper over after re-opening the box and he held it in his fingertips like it was going to shatter.

”Thanks.”

The silence was deafening. What do you say to any of what just occurred? How do you fix someone’s past when you weren’t even present for when it happened? Can you even try or was this a lost cause if Brian was wrong about him hurting himself and this was a mistake to trust him?

”Roger we have to know why you had those in the first place if you’re clean.” Freddie said cooly. He didn’t want to over-step.

”I don’t know. Just in case, I guess. I was planning on going home that day and I guess I just wanted a backup plan in case things got bad again.”

His words gave Brian chills and he felt himself get a bit sick with the thought that the ‘back up plan’ was to end his life.

”You couldn’t have just come back here?”

Roger scoffed like it was the most ridiculous notion he’d ever heard. “God, no. I’d never be able to show up here again. You all would have hated me.”

”We don’t hate you, Roger. I don’t think anything you could do would make us hate you, my love. You just fucking scare us sometimes.” Freddie told him in a very blunt manner while remaining friendly. 

The blonde didn't want to say anything more. He wanted to go to bed, maybe get some sleep after unwinding and calming himself down from his entire night. He knew they weren't done, though, but it's all he wanted at the moment. He put his head down on the table, his face towards the kitchen, and put his hands in his lap. He could still feel tears running down his face.

"I think we should throw this away, Roger. It isn't sanitary and it's just..." Brian trailed off, his hands going up slightly while he tried to find the words that didn't come. It was disturbing. Dark. Gruesome. It was everything Brian didn't want to tell Roger in fear of hurting his feelings with something he already knew.

"Yeah go ahead," Roger mumbled quietly. He watched while Freddie disposed of the bandages and the plastic bin itself, the ring still resting on the table. It felt strange to have someone else interacting with what he thought was private, non-existent to other human knowledge besides him.

Brian put his head in his hands. He could feel a headache coming and it was beginning to settle behind his eyes and the fact he was almost working on no sleep didn't help the circumstances. He removed his nebulizer and slipped the cloth mask back over his mouth just to be careful despite being a bit far away from Roger.

"Can I lay down?" Roger then asked. He was practically pleading with them by now. 

"Yeah, I'll make your bed." Freddie offered and got up to turn the couch back into a bed, even when Brian offered. 

"Roger I'm sorry if I scared you earlier. I shouldn't have yelled."

"It's okay, Bri." He rolled his head to his chin and sat up. "God I wish we could get closer." 

Roger was still clearly a bit riled up and shakey, but he seemed to be better than when he first sat down. Maybe the fact he talked it out and released something so personal was relieving to him.

"Me too. I'm sorry we had to do this, but I think we needed to. I think this is obvious but you won't be getting the box back. Tomorrow we have to decide some things about the house, okay?"

No knives allowed somewhere easy to take. No items that could be considered weapons. Roger's body would need to be checked. A talk about therapy was in order and Brian felt stupid he hadn't done it before; he was so sure he could fix him by himself. He felt like a fucking guard of a prison again. Was he even doing the right thing at this point?

The blonde nodded understandingly and got up from the table before walking to the side of the couch where Freddie was laying down his blankets and pillows along with a stuffed animal he'd grabbed from his own room while the men were talking which made him smile when he noticed the bear sitting on his pillow. The oldest turned to him and pulled him in for a hug, putting one hand on the back of his head and the other on his spine. Roger reciprocated and sighed in satisfaction. He really gave the best hugs.

"I swear between you and Brian it's like having bloody teenagers. You're gonna be the death of me, but I love you." He smiled and gave Roger a kiss on the cheek but was pulled back in for an even tighter hug from the shorter man. He must have really needed it because he asked quietly, 'just one more moment?', which of course he gave.

"Love you too, Fred." Roger replied and finally pulled away from the hug. He crawled onto his bed and collapsed to his side with a long, heavy sigh that felt like it took the weight off of his shoulders.

From the table, Brian sat with a small smile behind the cloth mask he wore and tinkered with the razor blade in front of him. He wasn't sure what to do with it, but putting it away somewhere in his room would be best to keep it safe. Freddie approached him and kept a bit of distance just in case.

"You feeling okay?" Freddie asked.

"Yeah, I think I'll be okay. I'm just tired."

"I'll take you to bed, hm?"

Brian took his offer and they began to walk towards the stairway, the younger man carrying his nebulizer, but Roger sat up in his bed propped on his elbows and made a quiet sound in the back of his throat that got his attention. His eyes were glazed, his nose red, and he looked to be beginning to cry again. Brian knew he couldn't get close without risking transmitting his illness even by a simple touch of his skin or blankets, but he approached just a bit to make him feel better. Freddie pet his friend on the back, telling him goodnight, and went up to the stairs.

"I want to tell you what the note is." He cautioned nervously. His hands fumbled to shorts pockets and he pulled out the letter, running his finger over it.

"Roger you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."

"I do want to tell you, I just don't want you to...You know." He shrugged and brought a nervous hand to his lips and dragged the side of his palm against the dried skin. 

Brian sat on the floor pressed against the corner of the stairs and patiently waited for him to open the note. Giving him time to make his decision was a good idea because he hesitated severely, taking more than his liberty to finally folded the paper back into its original position. The red ink bled through the bottom and small, blocky letters could be seen even in the low light of the living room.

"Are you sure?" Brian asked.

"Yeah," Roger returned. "I wrote this, um, that Friday. The- The day before."

The older man shifted a bit and leaned forward in morbid curiosity. "Is this a suicide note?"

Roger blinked heavily while maintaining eye contact with the paper and seemingly read over his words. "I honestly don't remember writing it." His voice was eerily calm now but tears formed in his eyes. "I haven't read it yet. I don't really- I don't-" He inhaled heavily and brought his hand to his eye, keeping the palm pressed against it.

"Roger are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to know what it says. We can burn it right now-"

"Yes I do, I wanna know what I said. I don't even remember why I forgot."

It made sense to Brian. He had been repressing traumatic things for years, never remembering them even a day later. The time his father stood in front of him as a child and told him how worthless his mother was while he used her as his own personal rag doll was an example that stuck out to Brian. His own parents heard his family's disputes often and always went over to scoop the poor child out of the home along with his sister, all the while he trembled and sobbed only to not recall what had happened the night before when he'd wake in Brian's bed with him, even when the bruises would form.

Being a child himself and coming from a loving, well-put-together family, Brian never understood his seemingly dotted memory. He was told to never let Roger know about the things he'd forgotten and Clare never spoke about the events even when directly asked. It was only when he was slightly older, still in his own early teenage years, and he physically saw one of the memories get mentioned to him by Clare that he remembered, and it absolutely terrified the both of them when Roger had a breakdown in the middle of a parking lot. That's when he understood why his parents warned him so stubbornly never to tell him.

The fact he hadn't forgotten the night he jumped from the bridge was a cruel change of fate. It would be better if he'd awoken in the infirmary without the traumatic reminiscences of being impaled to haunt him.

Of course, he'd never even think of telling Roger his thought process, especially right now. He feigned ignorance and shook his head sympathetically when his friend looked up for any hope of an interpretation.

The note was written in poor handwriting- even for Roger's normal chicken-scratch penmanship. It was hardly readable even by the man who wrote it.

Roger was intoxicated when he wrote the letter. Sitting in his apartment he'd only been staying in for a week with four other men he'd not known the names of since they were constantly out of the home either partying or in jail, he sat in a bean bag chair. A lamp next to him helped him see even in his hazy state and he fumbled clumsily with a metal canister of pens until his fingers eventually wrapped around a red pen that seemed to do the trick when he used the wall to test it. 

A bottle of prescription pills, though not prescribed to him, and a bottle of Jack sat next to his feet, both draining unequally slow as the night went on but were now near empty. His entire body felt good- really good. Like he was lighter than a feather while equaling heavier than a ton. It was a nice change in pace from his typical empty state that only a few capsules followed by something strong could remedy. The paper sitting on his lap seemed far away and his body too slow to reach, but he wrote anyway, speaking out loud as he did.

"How the fuck do you begin a suicide note?" Roger asked himself while writing the exact words down. "I imagine I should say...My name is uh Roger Taylor. I think. Everything's weird right now. They say not to combine pills and booze but I'm gonna take that as a suggestion instead of a command."

He smiled at his own joke and lazily took a drink of the bottle by his feet before dropping it on the ground again, copper droplets spraying the wall and carpet. 

"This is probably gonna be my last night on earth and I'm kinda lonely. My friends- Well. Loose term. My flat-mates are gone, probably somewhere being bothered by the cops. They're fun but they're fucking dumb. You know the type? Of course you do I'm talking to myself here- No one will read this."

"Anyway, I'm gonna be dead tomorrow. Hopefully anyway. It would be ~~awkward~~ embarrassing if I failed. Who can't jump off a bridge? I think a bridge is a good choice cause It seems easy. Unless someone...Grabs me but that seems unlikely and I don't like being man-handled. Makes ~~me~~  you feel weird. Am I rambling in my own suicide note? Anyways. I guess I should make a will for my shit."

Roger thought about the things he owned. The list wasn't long and everything he owned was given to him or stolen. 

"I have this cool marble I'd like to give back to my ex-boyfriend who helped me get it, but I don't know where he is so maybe when I jump it'll like float to his house or something. If he remembers me."

He fought to retrieve the boyfriend's name but at the instant, he could hardly remember his own name, much less who he'd known earlier in his life. Roger was beginning to get tired now, but he wasn't ready to sleep quite yet.

"I have some clothes I need to wear tomorrow, but the flat-mate with the weird hair can have my jacket he's always asking about. I really like that jacket but I'm not gonna use it so fuck it have it, man. I thought about wearing that jacket because Clare gave it to me for my birthday but I think that would be rude cause it's gonna be all wet and gross when my body gets found. Do jumpers get their bodies buried or they just get left there in the ocean for like fish to eat them?"

He thought about using his phone to look up the answer but his pocket seemed too deep to look through. He'd just have to decide on his own.

"Honestly I wouldn't care if a fish ate me- it would give me a purpose at least. Be better than just lying around downing everyone's booze and crying. Anyway, I don't know what else to add. I have a bottle of Vicodin I won't need by tomorrow so one of my flat-mates can have it unless I down them before I hop just for that extra courage cause I'm kind of a pussy. Heights scare me but the thought of overdosing or slitting my wrists in a bathtub is scarier- those give you a better chance at living, I've read that on the internet. I would hate to survive cause then I'd have to try again and the mess would be troublesome."

Roger felt tears stinging his eyes but they were numb even as they ran down his face. He wiped them away and blinked a few times to stop them from blurring his already blotted vision.

"So since this is the last anyone is gonna hear of me since I'll be dead I just wanna say that I didn't like my life. Sounds dark, maybe. I don't even like my life right now. I've had friends who tried to help me though, and that was nice of them to waste their time on me. I really mean that! I'm a little drowsy, I can't remember any names but I appreciate the one who made me break up with Tim and I really liked the girl who took me to a rehab thing after I about choked on my own puke at that party. Sorry, didn't stay. Don't think you know that, though. Needed a drink if we're being honest, and we are because no one will ever read this."

"Suicide notes are kind of fun to write, I should do this more often. I'm real tired and I need sleep now. Sorry for anyone's life I ruined but I think tomorrow should make up for it all."

The bottom of the note had a grocery list with doodles next to each item. The note came to a close and when Roger realized he'd finished reading the note out loud to both himself and Brian, he had been blissfully unaware he'd been having a mild panic attack until that moment when he couldn't get a breath in.

He could just only recapture the feeling of the styrofoam beans in the chair he was sitting in touch against his back that night while he wrote the letter. The smell of booze was faint but it was there, and the feeling of puking your guts out just before heading out for the last morning of your life the next day was memorable.

He couldn't bring himself to look up at Brian but he heard a faint keening noise. At first, he wasn't sure if it was him or his friend, but when there was a movement of someone standing he realized he had been the one making the pitiful sound. 

"Oh, Roger," Brian said, pulling his cloth mask tighter around his head. His voice was just as choked and he could just hardly walk well enough to sit in front of him on the floor, next to the bed's side where the younger man was with his hands gripping the paper impossibly tight.

There was a lot to unpack. Many things Roger had never mentioned. If he had, they would have been much more careful with alcohol and his medication, more careful with a lot of things. If he'd mentioned an apartment they could have possibly gone back and gotten the little things he had before jumping. There were a lot of questions that would need to be answered but none of them seemed even slightly important at the moment.

"Can you hug me? I don't care if you have the fucking plague I need- I need _something_." Roger asked quietly when he wrapped his own arms around his waist after placing the paper gently next to him. 

"Roger-"

The blonde attempted to exhale but it came out as a sob, and he closed his eyes tightly. Brian was heartbroken, and against his better judgment, he stood up and sat on the bed. He wrapped his arms around his best friend's body and held him close, closer than he'd ever done before and perhaps the closeness he'd been neglecting Roger of since he came back into his life. Roger sobbed loudly into his shoulder which brought out his own tears.

"I love you. I love you so much, Roger. I never want you to think you ruined anyone's fucking life. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me- you're my second chance." Brian told him which only made him weep harder.

"I love you too- I love you. I do!" He spoke emphatically because he could hardly control himself in any form of the word. He was absolutely limp in Brian's clutch and he was openly sobbing, the sounds of it most likely being heard by both Freddie and John who were only upstairs. "I'm so sorry- I'll never do it again."

Brian clenched his jaw to hold back a cry and ran his fingers through Roger's hair lovingly. "Don't apologize, Rog. You didn't do anything wrong. It's gonna be okay. You're safe with me, yeah? You don't ever have to go back there ever again."

Roger nodded enthusiastically and pulled himself closer to the older man's body somehow. 

His cries eventually turned to frustrated tears, then to quiet sobs, and finally to stillness and heavy breathing after he'd taken it out. Brian sat next to him on the bed now because he'd exhausted himself from his yelling and crying and needed to lay down. Now he simply laid there, covered in blankets, and had his hair stroked by his friend next to him.

"Do you feel a little better?" Brian asked peacefully. Roger nodded under his touch. "You know I love you, hm? That I just want what's best to protect you?"

Roger smiled a bit. "You sound like your mum."

"Well, my mum is a lovely lady. She'd be thrilled to hear you're living with us, Roger. Maybe I'll give her a ring tomorrow?"

The blonde looked up at Brian and his smile turned into an excited grin. "Does she remember me?"

"I don't think she'll ever forget her sort-of son." Brian smiled too.

"Ew, Brian. I adore the thought but we can't be brothers."

"Why's that?"

"I don't think two brothers snogging is looked at happily."

They both broke into laughter and Roger rolled onto his back with a satisfied sigh, his hand reaching out for Brian's which he gave.

"You think she actually remembers?" He asked more seriously. A bit timid of the answer.

"Of course, Roger. She never stopped asking about you; she loves you." 

Roger once again smiled and nodded. Brian's mother was practically his own, and he'd not seen her since he was eighteen. He wonders if she has fond memories of her as he does. His favorite was when he came home from school with Clare, both only twelve years old, and found his house to be locked, his mother and father had gone without a word or even letting them know.

They sat outside on the porch for nearly an hour when Mrs.May came out to see why they were sitting alone and instead of letting them sit alone she invited them in to help her in the garden where Mr.May and Brian were outside as well. Their parents didn't return home for two days and never told them where they went, but it was the best two days of their lives and it was almost like being removed from their real house when they had to go home after their parents found out they'd been staying with the May's without permission.

"Will you stay with me while I sleep?" Roger asked hesitantly. 

"Of course, Rog."

So he did. It didn't take long before he was sleeping peacefully, a burden off of his shoulder's he'd kept for far too long. It was almost like you could see the weight off of his soul. As soon as he was asleep, Brian moved away from him and sat at the table as so he wouldn't fall asleep next to him and end up too-close for the sake of Roger's health.

Up until that point since Roger came back he'd only felt the need to protect him. Keep him safe. Roger was more important than himself- more important than his most basic needs like taking a shower. He was the one who needed it the most. Up until that point, he didn't give himself a second thought, even when he nearly collapsed from exhaustion and found out he had bronchitis.

But while he occupied that chair with his hands reaching over his own chest in an attempt to sooth the ache crawling over his body, he suddenly became aware he was significant also. He felt like shit and he was fucking sad. Roger was sad too, they both were, but neither was more important than the other. Brian was  _allowed_ to feel like shit, and he was allowed to be sad. He'd had an unyielding month and an even worse day so he let himself be sad about that while he sat at that table, tears beginning to run down his cheeks.

For just that moment he didn't let other people's lives get in the way of his realization that he didn't feel well in any sense of the word. For just that moment he put himself first and even got up to make himself a cup of tea for his sore throat.

Maybe in the morning, it would be better. He'd take a shower, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHIT RIGHT? I really hope yall enjoyed this chapter :) it was hard for me to write because this is my most personal chapter yet and a lot of it, i mean A LOT, was taken from my real life. i wont say what parts as I dont want the sympathy but i hope it was good for you guys. like i said in the beginning notes, i wont be writing chapter 10 till after sunday <3 thanks guys, leave a comment!
> 
> ps. tags are updated for this chapter now  
> the new ones are the ones for alcoholism and drug addiction


	11. Love On A Tightrope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi its me and I'm not dead surprisingly. so sorry this took for fucking ever but i have so many great ideas for the next few chapters i cannot wait to share them. <3

 

The first thing he felt when he woke up was droplets running down his back. It was hot, far too hot to be wearing his clothes, but the couch underneath him was too comfortable to move. His thoughts were blank until he smelled the familiar scent of his blankets so just as suddenly, his mind was flooded with the thoughts of the previous night. Fuck. The last thing he wanted right now is to see the look on Brian and Freddie's faces when he got up for the day.

Maybe if he didn't wake up he wouldn't be bothered. He could just go to bed and be forgotten about for the day, not be bothered with anything or anyone. They'd assume the poor blonde on the couch was too sad to get up for the day and let him get it out. 

Clearly, that wasn't an option when he heard Brian's voice close to him, whispering something he couldn't understand. John was there too, probably Freddie as well. He knew he was very displayed at the moment and he felt his breathing quicken, turning into heavy pants that must have told them he was awake because he felt a hand on his back, running smoothly despite the wetness of the fabric. 

"Roger," Freddie cooed. "are you up?"

He really had no choice but to respond. Roger nodded and he felt his hair swipe away from his face, but it was sweaty and wet.

"Is he okay?" John asked from behind the sofa. His voice was thick and dripping in concern that made Roger want to roll his eyes if they weren't already closed.

"Are you okay?" Brian asked this time. 

Roger got up off of the bed and looked over the bed, seeing wet spots where his head was on the pillow and where his torso met the sheets. He ran his hands over his neck and felt the hot moisture meet his palm and he grimaced. 

"Fine, just a bit hot." He admitted clear as it was.

"Sure it isn't a fever? I didn't get you sick, right?" Brian questioned sheepishly just when Freddie brought a hand to his friend's forehead to check for a temperature.

Roger backed up from the touch and put his hair out of his face. They all seemed to be wanting something, expecting something maybe. They weren't crowding him for no reason. He looked up expectantly and raised a brow.

"What are you lot staring for? You want me to make the couch?"

"Uh, actually we wanted to talk to you. If you're feeling up to it, that is." John explained this time. He avoided eye contact completely, more than usual. Most likely leftover guilt from the night before.

"Okay." 

He felt like he was on trial.

"So," Brian motioned towards the kitchen and Roger looked up to find a box of knives sitting on the table. "I thought we should tell you we're gonna go ahead and take out any weapons from the kitchen and wherever else. I-I didn't want you to not know. You know, after what we discussed last night."

"You're baby-proofing the house?" Roger asked with a blank, unreadable expression.

"Don't think of it like that. It's for your safety, you said it would be okay last night."

That was true, he did. Now it was adult time and he wasn't acting like much of one. Roger sat up and inhaled deeply through his nose, ready to face whatever he had to say.

"Okay, sorry. Go on." Roger insisted with confidence. False confidence, but he was doing just as Brian asked the night before and was pretending. He was really good at that; playing pretends until he was practically hosting his own play.

"Okay," Freddie began this time while Brian hooked his nebulizer up and slid it on. "the knives aren't gonna be in the house anymore and neither will anything you can possibly hurt yourself with. That includes any ropes, necklaces, bracelets, and constricting bandages we don't supply you."

The list dragged on but he kept his facade of acceptance despite how compressing it was wrapping around his brain. God, he actually was insane.

"And um," Brian hesitated to get the words out. "I don't think it would be extreme if I made sure you didn't have any...Injuries. At the moment, at least."

Roger stared at him and he could almost feel his facade beginning to split. "You...want me to get naked in front of you to prove I'm not lying?"

"No, no. Not fully, just where I wouldn't be able to see."

"That's...a lot, Brian. I promised you- I promise you." He put his hands over his head anxiously and ran his fingers through in thought. This was getting upsetting, but he wasn't going to allow his mask to slip. He couldn't let them know he was unsettled, they'd just pity him like a child.

"I know, I know," Brian bent down over the couch and ghosted his fingers over his shoulder down to his arm in an attempt to comfort him. "I'm just making sure, you know? Of course I trust you."

It sounded a lot like distrust, but he nodded.

"We also do not want you to feel like you're confined here," Freddie said now. "that's not the plan. You're an adult, you can be treated like one. If you want to go out you can let one of us know and we'll come with you."

"This is being treated like an adult?" Roger suddenly challenged in a tone that had a bite. "Baby-proofing the house is being treated like an adult, huh? That's your idea, Fred? Brian? John?" He looked at each of them while speaking their names like they were curse words.

He regret what he said when he said it but he couldn't stop the words from coming out despite his best effort. He wasn't ever one for holding back.

"It's for your protection, Rog. I don't want anything bad to happen to you, you know?" John admitted with a bit of a smile. 

"Yeah, my safety, you guys keep mentioning that."

The room went quiet besides the sounds of Brian's nebulizer hissing over his wheezing breaths and the dishwasher running behind them. Roger hung his head and sighed, knowing he was a bit out of place to be speaking against rules in a home that he no longer belonged to as he once did.

"Sorry. I get it, I'll do whatever." Roger owned shamefully.

"Alright then. You want breakfast?" Brian smiled warmly and bent himself over the couch to kiss Roger on the head after picking up his mask, scratching the back of his neck lovingly while doing so.

He really didn't, his anxiety turned to a bit of a stomach ache from being so put in place on the spot in front of everyone. But now he was doing a fashionable thing called bluffing, and apart of the new fad was to act like he wasn't going to cry in the shower in about an hour from the humiliation. On top of that, his next goal was to eat breakfast.

"Yeah, I do."

So far so good.

Breakfast was awkward, to say the least. He could hardly handle his friend's cheerful moods when he was so cruelly embarrassed by them not moments before. They weren't aware of that, so they ate and made small talk and Roger even talked back with just as much merriment as they radiated. A smile here, a laugh there, it was all performance.

"So, Roger, maybe later today I could give my mum a ring and you two could talk a bit," Brian told him. 

His grin wasn't apart of his act this time, he truly beamed upon hearing that he would be able to talk to misses May. He used to call her mum as a kid, but he was forced to grow out of that when his own parents heard him slip up and call her that in front of them. Now it was more of a private matter of calling her mum, contained only in his thoughts. Never out loud even when he knew his dad couldn't get him.

He hadn't seen either of his parents since he was seventeen and moved out of the house. He figured if Brian was moving out, he would too. It didn't go down without a black eye and words neither party could take back, however. He'd never seen his father so frustrated with him; especially since he had renounced his son's sexuality for his entire life.

The thought he was going to be moving in with a man, his boyfriend no less was revolting and he'd rather see his son in a coffin than with another man. He made that plain to see to anyone in the neighborhood who could hear them or see them, even Brian's parents who called the police when they saw Roger get pulled out of the home by his hair.

"Really, could you?" Roger urged with enthusiasm matching a child's.

"Of course, I'm sure she'd love to hear from you." Brian grinned brightly upon seeing Roger genuinely become excited.

"She's gotta be pretty special, huh? Roger, if I may ask, where's your mum? I don't believe you've mentioned her." Freddie inquired but was immediately met with an idle stare from the blonde.

Without missing a beat, Roger replied, "Dead. Both of my parents. Don't ask again, they don't deserve the respect."

For all he knew they  _were_ dead. He, no matter how gruesome it may sound, secretly hoped they were just so he wouldn't ever have to see them again. Dead in the literal sense or dead to him, either way, it was all the same to him.

Everyone at the table went quiet for a moment and Freddie's face went bright red.

"I'm so sorry," He withdrew. "I didn't mean anything."

Brian shifted his body towards Roger. "His parent's weren't very kind. My parents practically fostered him." He smiled. "Sometimes I think they love him more than they love me."

Roger smiled at the thought and it took his mind away from his own parents. "You think?"

"Oh, shut up!" Brian replied with a good-natured shove. They both giggled and Roger put his hand out to Freddie who brushed his fingertips over his hand.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you." He admitted. "Sensitive subject, maybe."

"Oh nonsense. My parents weren't too pleasant either. Sure, they cherished me and my sister, but they could be harsh on us."

Roger only nodded. He no longer wanted this conversation to continue so he pushed his meal away and sat up from the table only to be stopped by Brian's voice.

"Where are you going?"

"Shower," Roger replied. "That's okay, right?"

Brian nodded and then sat up himself and came to his side. 

"I can...shower by myself, Brian." He spoke uncomfortably. This was becoming overwhelming again.

"No, I know, I just need to take some things out of there. Shaving razors and stuff. You know?"

"Sure."

He understood but it doesn't mean he liked it. If he was going to do anything, the last thing he'd do is kill himself in a shower that didn't even belong to him. It was a bit too late for promises, and that was made plain earlier when he was confronted upon waking up.

The shower had two shaving razors and a handful of items Brian deemed dangerous which included hair tyes and bobby pins. How he would manage to fashion a weapon from hair ties and bobby pins he didn't know, but apparently his friend had a few colorful ideas he wasn't going to share.

"Oh yeah good thing you got rid of those or else I would have really done some damage with a hair tie and pin thing." Roger tapped his temple and pointed up at the ceiling with an irritated smile.

The brunette frowned. "Roger-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Protection." He waved his hand in dismissal. Brian appeared happy enough with that and gave him a kiss on the cheek before turning on the shower for him.

"Gimme a shout if you need anything, hm?"

He nodded and Brian exited the bathroom, then the bedroom and presumably made his way downstairs. Now that Roger was alone he could finally catch his breath- and god did he need to. He felt like someone had tied his vocal cords to his lungs and the fire it caused burned his entire body.

Roger took a few good breaths before he felt tears running down his cheeks faster than the shower pelting the ceramic tiled floor. Humiliation, lack of satisfying sleep, and his anxiety created a frightful mix of emotions in his gut that pushed themselves out through his crying.

Sometimes a good cry is all you really need to reset yourself and feel newly human again. The tears purging you of your aches and troubles if only for a minute.

The shower made it hard to know if it was water or tears continuing to run down, but it felt good to get his hair wet and get warmed up. He sighed with a smile creeping its way over his lips, and he ran his hands over his arms and stomach. 

His body had become less gaunt since moving into the home; his chest no longer showed his ribcage as much and his arms were becoming lean instead of concerningly thin. The rest of him filled out as well and made for a thin physique. He could feel himself getting more energy, no longer exhausted by simple things from his weakness, but he truly had nowhere to put it all.

He was unable to go outside much at all for more than a smoke without someone thinking he's gonna blow his head off so he had a lot of pent up energy waiting to be released in any form, and at the moment it was crying.

Since he wouldn't be alone for a few more hours, he really let himself get it out. He gripped the walls, hit his thighs, and sunk to the bottom of the turquoise shower tiles with his hands pulling his hair. It all felt much better when it was out, no longer pressing against his chest and ready to burst at any moment.

Once he sat against the shower wall panting, he was sure bruises were going to show. He didn't care, however, he was just glad he had a moment of silence by himself even if it was spent crying and holding back shouts.

 _That felt good_ , he thought to himself. _That felt really good._

Roger stayed in the shower a little bit longer before he stepped out and began to dry himself off with a towel. He felt refreshed and a bit tired from all of the moving around he did. He looked around the cabinets for a blow dryer for his hair but could only find soaps and towels.

Brian sure was thorough even with his own items. 

Roger decided to let it go despite beginning to feel the annoyance building back up inside of him and dried his hair with a towel. He put the towel around his waist and exited the bathroom to look for something to wear. On the bed waiting for him was a change of clothes, a plain shirt and a pair of blue pajama pants.

If Brian had left them out he must have at least overheard his crying a little, and it was surprising he didn't come to see what was going on. Maybe he figured he didn't want to be interrupted. He certainly didn't have any weapons so maybe that was why.

Roger changed and headed downstairs to see his friends sitting on the couch, quietly watching TV. Freddie had a beer in his hand and John only glanced over at Roger for a moment before looking away like he'd done something horrible.

"I hope the clothes are okay," John told. "I figured we're kind of the same size."

Now it made sense. Roger made John wildly uncomfortable, it couldn't be more clear, and now it had been made worse by the crying he'd heard. It didn't hurt his feelings, but it did make him feel a bit guilty. Maybe John was just a person who couldn't handle serious situations or didn't know how to deal with them. Besides that, he was the only person in the house he'd interacted with only a few times so they were practically strangers.

"Oh, yeah they're fine. Thanks, deaky." Roger gave a warm smile and John returned it surprisingly.

Now his attention was turned to Brian who was looking up at him with interest. "Could you ring your mum?"

Brian smiled in reply. "You're really looking forward to it, huh?"

"A little. Maybe after I could go on a run to the petrol station. Alone?" He looked up at his friend with a curious expression and bit his lip waiting for the answer.

"I don't know, Rog."

He pouted. "Okay, sorry."

"Maybe we could go together? Or, Freddie could go?"

Roger nodded but he didn't mean it. He wanted to go on a normal run alone; forget about the fact he was insane just for a minute while he got his pent-up energy (that was beginning to turn to frustration) out. It seems like he wasn't steady enough to do even that in Brian's eyes. No, he'd jump in front of a car, right? 

"Anyway," Roger smiled. "your mum?"

"Right." He replied while yanking his phone from his pocket.

The number dialing seemed like it took years, and when he was handed the phone he almost hung up even without a voice on the other end.

Suddenly he was very aware that Misses May was about to pick up the phone, someone who embraced him while the shouting at his own home turned into the police being called. Someone who kept him safe even for a moment. It was strange, even more so than moving back in with Brian years after he left him.

"Nevermind," Roger quickly said, forcing the phone into Brian's hand. "I don't want to talk."

"Roger, are you sure?" Brian asked and looked down at the phone that had been picked up. He held it up to his own ear and heard his mother's voice on the other end.

" _Sorry, what'd you say?_ " She asked.

"Oh, sorry. Just talking to someone." He replied.

Roger could hear her voice through the phone and a grin appeared on his face. The decision to not speak began to sound stupid and he held his hand out with his other on his chest. He could feel his heart thumping away rapidly from the anticipation.

" _Who'd that be, my love?_ " Misses May asked her son curiously. Brian smiled when he could say his reply.

"It's Roger. He wants to talk to you, that okay?"

Roger heard a strange sound from over the line and given Brian's laughter, she must have been excited. He handed the phone over and the blonde took it greedily and pressed it against his ear with a smile.

"Misses May?" 

" _Roger_ _!"_

He could hear her smile over the phone and he felt tears stinging his eyes and closing his throat up, but he refused to let himself do such a thing. The show he was putting on was too good to stop now for a little sentiment.

"It's really nice to hear your voice. I haven't seen or heard from you in so long, how's Mister May?" Roger's voice cracked halfway through and he ducked his head in embarrassment.

" _Old and dull, just like he always was. Right now he's on the bloody couch reading the comics, maybe he'd like to say hello too?"_

"Ah, that's okay. How about you tell me how you've been lately?" 

He couldn't hold back tears when she started to talk about her pets. She had a dog named Biscuit and a cat named Freckles and while she explained why she called them both that, he sat at the dining room table.

They must have spoken for hours; going back and forth discussing what each other got up to in the years. Roger told a very watered down version that didn't include any drugs, alcohol, and abuse of what he'd done, and she told him his life sounded lovely.

By the time Misses May was saying her goodnights the sun had gone down and his friends had gone to bed save for Brian who was up eating a snack and watching TV on the couch. The call must have been hours upon hours long, but he didn't notice once. When he hung up, he grinned broader than he had in days and pressed his head into his hands.

Brian noticed his silence and turned around with his mouth full and a wide-eyed look of curiosity and excitement.

"I figure it went well then?" 

Roger nodded.

"I'm glad. You needed something good like that."

He really did, so he nodded again.

"Brian, how are you feeling?" Roger suddenly asked when he collected his thoughts again. He seemed somewhat surprised and shrugged.

"I'm doing a little better. How about I make the bed for you, it's late." He suggested, and Roger once again nodded his head in agreement. 

He had a really good night and even though they discussed things he'd rather not think about, like his sister and his family, he had a good time talking to misses May.

As soon as his head hit the pillow his body relaxed completely. He was hit with a wave of exhaustion, and the pillow below his head smelled so clean he couldn't help but fall asleep almost immediately.

He didn't notice Brian leave but he must have because the next time Roger turned around to get comfortable, he was alone.

 

* * *

 

A young man waited outside the apartment's door. The wood was cracked, aged, and smelled like mildew and dust. He rapped his foot anxiously and fingered the car keys inside of his pocket while he waited bravely for an answer. A small sound from the inside, any sign of life, would be good enough. 

Nothing came.

"Clare?" Roger called from outside the door.

He could smell himself and it was less than pleasant; alcohol and sweat radiated off of his body. If his sister opened the door it would be only for a moment before she slammed the door in his face for looking so disgusting and smelling worse.

That's if she'd open the fucking door.

"Clare, I'm coming in!" He bellowed, carefully turning the doorknob as if it would be locked. It was open and pushed forward with his force.

The first thing he noticed was the smell of chemicals wafting and burning his nostrils. He drew a hand to his face and squeezed his nose by pinching the bridge with a grimace. The second thing he noticed was murky water pouring from the bathroom and flooding the carpet below his feet that squelched with each step.

"Clare?" He asked the hopefully empty apartment. Roger only asked because he was hopeful for an answer, but he knew deep down it wouldn't be coming.

Maybe she'd left the bathroom sink on, perhaps the tub. He had an engulfing impression he wouldn't be so lucky this time.

As soon as his shaking hand gripped the bathroom doors knob he felt himself nearly retch from the stress and anticipation. He must have removed his hand three times before he finally opened the door, though his eyes were closed. 

Through the darkness of his closed vision, he could hear something moving. As soon as he opened his eyes, he felt his knees give underneath his suddenly very heavy body. It felt like a pound of bricks was dropped on his shoulders all too suddenly, and just as suddenly he began to violently sob with his forearms pressed against the bath.

Clare sat lifelessly in the tub with her arms on either side of the porcelain. Her arms, however, were in mangled pieces down the middle. Blood poured faster than the spout on the tub currently flooding the bathroom where Roger sat on his knees. Her lips were blue and quivering.

"No, no, come on," He pleaded quietly while picking up one of her arms that babbled plasma over his own hands. "you couldn't have done this. We were supposed to watch a movie, this isn't fair."

A quiet and pained moan pushed him out of his reality further. He wasn't in this apartment, and Clare wasn't in the tub. She couldn't have been, this was a bad trip and tomorrow he'd wake up and she would be fine.

There was a moment of eerie peace just before he was taken by the neck and launched to the floor. The oxygen from his lungs was shrugged out through his throat and his vision blurred dizzily.

"What the fuck did you do?!" A males voice screamed from above him. When his vision cleared, he saw Clare's boyfriend Peter who was standing over him.

"I-I just got here, I swear I didn't do anything."

Clearly, there was no time for explanations because the next thing he saw was a fist coming down on his nose followed by intense pain that brought the dizziness back. His head slammed against the tile floor heavily and he groaned under the force.

"Get the fuck out," Peter said all too calmly.

"Wh- I'm her brother," Roger whispered. He couldn't think right. Everything hurt.

"I didn't ask who you were, I said get out before I get the cops."

He took the hint when Peter raised his fist again. Roger got up and got out of the apartment as fast as he could for someone who's nose was bleeding a river. 

Roger looked at his hands and wasn't sure if the blood was his or Clare's, just as he wasn't sure if the blood was from his head hitting the ship's deck or from his shredded side when he jumped from the bridge. Would it matter who's it was or where it was from? 

The two most traumatic events happening side by side like a movie played in his head. He wanted to look away but he felt a force on his conscious to look; see the suffering he called his life. He repeated the phrase, " _You're dreaming, get up,"_ in his head until he finally was able to force himself away from the nightmare.

Now all he saw was white while the other horrible things melted away into the background of his mind; stored away in an undusted box to not be opened again and sealed with care.

He felt a glowing comfort surrounding him when he slowly began to wake. The panic he felt moments before was slipping from his fingertips quickly, and he could now only feel the soothing heat covering him.

Roger opened his eyes carefully and found darkness cloaking the room and even though the panic was subsiding, his heart raced in his throat faster than he could keep up with.

He sat up carefully but now remarked that the warmth around him moments before was becoming cold. Not the kind of cold you feel when you're upset, the physical coolness when you spill tea and it sits for too long. Roger pulled the blankets from his lap hesitantly and found the surrounding area soaked, and when he brought his fingers to the spots, it was urine.

"Oh my god," Roger stammered in shock. He felt red hotness climbing up his neck and face when he noticed how his boxers were wetted as well. "I did _not_ just...."

The realization hit him all at once and suddenly he was tearing up. The front of his palms slapped his head repeatedly and he moaned in mortification. He'd wet the bed, and it was also their sofa. They'd have to wash it, the blankets, and he'd have to tell them why.

He was so ashamed of himself, especially when he couldn't stop himself from crying like a baby.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" Roger exploded suddenly. He didn't care if anyone heard him since they'd know soon enough anyway. No one seemed to stir so he allowed himself to cool down for a moment. 

The hotness from moments before began to settle cold, cooling him down which pushed a sharpness down his arms. He would have to get up sooner or later so he shouldered himself out of bed and gathered anything he'd wet. He grabbed the sheets, pillows, and his comforter. The bed itself was wet and left a dark mark even under the sheets.

Everything reeked of urine.

Roger made his way to Brian's room and knocked anxiously. He heard a quiet shuffle and the door opened, revealing a tired Brian who was only wearing his boxers who gave him a mixed look of concern and confusion.

"B-Brian...I, um," He couldn't seem to get the words out. The tears started to flow again and he immediately brought his fingers up to push them away. "I need to get a change of clothes. I...Um. I need to wash my sheets."

Brian seemed to understand once he smelled the air around them. He opened his door wider and Roger shuffled in, the wetness between his legs beginning to chafe uncomfortably. Roger didn't want to sit on the bed in fear of getting that wet too, and so he stood with tears still running down his heated cheeks.

He felt like a toddler going to his father for help. It was unquestionably humiliating.

"Let me get you some clothes. You can change in the bathroom, okay? I'll take your blankets." Brian's voice was hoarse like he'd been screaming non-stop for hours despite only have been asleep, but it was most likely from the mucus build up in his lungs. He extended his arms out to take the sheets but Roger backed away and held them tighter.

"No. I can do it, I did it. I can clean them."

"Roger, I can do it. It's fine, you're not in trouble or anything." Brian assured while he reached his arms out again.

The blonde didn't answer but gave him the sheets. He took them like they weren't soaked in piss and foul scents. He took them like he didn't despise Roger for the mishap when he should have been furious.

”I’m so sorry.” Roger suddenly broke with a sob. He brought his palms against his eyes and pressed down until he could see milky white blurs stroke his sight.

”It wasn’t on purpose, you don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He was beginning to run the shower for his friend and he came out with a small, concerned smile. “Anything you want to talk about?” 

“N-no. I’m just...I’m sorry.” 

Brian frowned and he clearly didn't believe him. “It’s okay, Rog. When you rinse off you can change and then give me your clothes. I’ll take care of them and you can have them back in the morning.”

He was helping slightly but not enough to take the edge off. The embarrassment was beginning to settle in but he still moved zombie-like, slow and carefully, when he made his way to the bathroom. 

It was chilly on his bare feet where the liquid had begun to make its way to. Though mostly dried on his legs, the spots on his groin were still wet. Now with the door closed the situation really pushed itself to the forefront of his brain and he was suddenly even more humiliated than he was a moment ago. 

 _God, I'm fucking pathetic._ Roger mused to himself.  _You just had an accident on the couch and now Brian's gonna think you're some baby, just like you know you are. What happened to the plan?_

His play wouldn't be able to go on now, and it had only lasted a day. He'd have to tell Brian why he was so upset even in his unconscious state and he'd be treated like glass. Even more so than now.

The thoughts bothered him and it only brought tears to his eyes again. Brian was already baby-proofing the house, and now he was gonna have to have another reason to believe it was the right thing to do. 

Maybe he'd even tell Freddie and John, and god he didn't want that. 

Roger returned his hands to his head again and he slapped himself across the forehead. He was so fucking ridiculous.

Getting undressed was a hassle as well. His underwear felt strange to remove when they were wet and the backside of his shirt was affected too, leaving a dark spot where he'd laid. As soon as he was undressed he stepped under the warm shower and left his wet clothes by the door. 

It felt much better under the stream, calming. He ran his hands over his chest and backside to wash off the stench and made sure he was clean by running a handful of shampoo over himself as well. He didn't need to get anything else dirty, especially wherever he'd be sleeping now.

Roger sighed in contentment. With the water, his cynical feelings rinsed away as well for the second time that day. His mind was now clear and ready to face his best friend again, even if he wanted to crawl into himself and disappear from the thought of what he'd done.

"Roger, I'm gonna grab your clothes." The brunette beckoned from the other side of the door. 

He was just wrapping a towel around himself when Brian said that so he opened the door for him and collected his clothes for him. Now that he was clean he was realizing how much he must have smelled and the redness returned to his cheeks now accompanied by shaking hands.

"Brian I don't want you to wash these. I can do it, I promise." Roger quickly told and protectively held the clothes to himself. Brian seemed to understand and nodded. He would at least let him wash his own clothes since he was going to do the rest.

"I've got you some fresh clothes, here." Brian handed over a pair of underwear and a shirt that looked much larger than both of them. It would work so he didn't complain while he got into them. "Alright, I have your blankets in the washer. Tomorrow I'll tidy up the couch."

Roger nervously shuffled on his feet with crossed arms. What if Freddie and John see it and smell it and know what he did? He wouldn't be able to look at them the same way ever again. Maybe they'd even make him sleep somewhere else so he wouldn't ruin their sofa. "The last thing I want is for Freddie and John to know."

"I don't think they'll know-"

"Brian. _Please_."

A silence fell between them and Roger cleared a hopeless whimper from the back of his throat. It took all he had to even tell him what he'd done, it would be impossible to think about the fact that his two new friends would know too. God, he wanted to just go back to sleep.

"Okay, let's go clean it up together, yeah?" Brian offered. Roger turned his body away from him and nodded.

The odor in the living room had dwindled but it was still somewhat present, enough to make you question what the smell was. It only brought back the red hot guilt that seemed to want to stick around inside of the blonde.

"It's not that bad, see?" When he looked, Brian was smiling. Roger sighed.

"Whatever," He shrugged, "What do we need to get this over with? I'm tired."

"I got it." 

Brian went to the kitchen and picked up an assortment of cleansers, including an odor eliminator meant for pets. That was the icing on the fucking cake.

"Do you wanna talk about something?" Brian asked, sprinkling the dry dust of the odor eliminator over the area. Roger sat on the floor nearby and shuffled his hands over the back of a spray bottle.

"No, I really don't. You don't have to worry about me."

"You promised you'd talk to me, remember?"

Roger glared at Brian. He had no right to be mad, but he was. He was right. 

"I just...It's Clare. You know."

Brian did. He still remembers the call from his mother telling him that Roger's sister had passed away, even worse was the funeral. He'd hoped to see Roger there but he had no such luck.

"Oh, Roger," He said, "I'm sorry. I know you miss her-"

"There was so much blood. God, she looked so strange."

Brian peered over his shoulder with a furrowed brow and a defensive; "What?"

"Her boyfriend almost killed me when he saw me in that bathroom."

"Roger, what are you talking about?"

Roger tensed. "Are you mad at me?" He didn't understand why Brian was getting so upset suddenly. He hadn't done anything wrong. Had he? He couldn't have.

"No, I just don't understand. Were you there when Clare passed?"

He said nothing. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned it.

"I saw you at Clare's funeral."

"Roger-"

"You were crying just as much as my mom was," He gave a bitter grin before continuing, "like she ever cared about us. You think she'd care if she knew I tried to jump from a bridge? She'd probably tell me to try again." 

Roger continued; "Try harder, young man! The next time I see you I want it to be in a coffin!" He imitated the woman who raised him with a high pitched voice while wagging his finger.

Brian turned around and set the bottle down on the mattress before walking over to Roger and sitting by him. "You were there?"

He agreed with a laugh. "I was there. It was nice, but I couldn't get myself to participate. I was hardly sober, couldn't walk, my parents would have beat my ass until I'd need a matching casket."

He even grinned at the thought of that day when he was being held up by his friend Peach so he wouldn't collapse. He was wearing a mismatched suit in case he grew the balls to join the festivities. He had an odd mix of laughing and crying from the liquor coursing through his veins and to his head.

It was a strange day.

"I'm so sorry." Was all Brian could say.

What else could you possibly say? There were no words, and no matter how much he needed to believe Roger had reasons to stay alive, it was beginning to make sense why he accepted his only choice was to end his life.

"No, don't be. She wasn't happy." Roger said as if it reasoned everything out. As if Brian's reaction would be, ' _Totally. I'm glad she did it."_

Brian raised a hand to Roger's face and put his palm against his cheek gently. He pushed into the touch and brought his own hand up to caress the backside of his hand. The thin skin made it easy to stroke the bones inside of his friend's hand.

"Roger-" Brian started but he started to feel tears run down his hand.

"Don't say it like that. Don't- Don't say my name like that." He shook his head and tightened his grip on his hand, pushing it closer somehow.

"Like what?"

"Like it hurts you to say."

They both met each other's eyes and their expressions relaxed. It was a few unusual circumstances, but Brian leaned in and pushed his body forward to close the space between them. Roger followed suit and took his other hand, pressing it against his other cheek for him.

"It only hurts to know how much you went through," Brian whispered. Roger dragged his eyes over his expression.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I swear I won't let anything hurt you again."

Roger smiled and nudged his head with his own while curly hair invaded his vision. "Promise?"

"Promise."

Brian steadied the blonde's head and pulled him back a bit to drag his lips across his neck. He gasped easily and felt sympathetic fingers run up his oversized shirt up to his pecks where they lingered. Roger brought his legs underneath Brian and folded his leg until his knee was just under his stomach, all the while his neck was gently licked and peppered with kisses.

The brunette lifted Roger's shirt over his head and pushed him on to his back where he tilted his head upwards with a hand. He did as he was guided to do and arched his back so his shirt could be removed. Once off, Brian removed his own an placed it under his friend's head accompanying his boxers.

"Such gentlemen behavior-" Roger panted while his underwear was tugged from his waist.

"Be quiet," Brian countered heavily with a braided grin.

His fingers worked quicker than his brain and he started to run them up and down Roger's cock which forced a pleasured moan out of his lips. Both of their brains ceased to continue to function and all they could think of was pleasuring each other.

"Do you know how hard it is to wank when you're in a home full of men and you sleep on their couch?" Roger gasped between grunts just before Brian inserted his fingers into his mouth. He bit down gently and wrapped his lips around them, a primal moan stretching from the end of his throat.

"'Said be quiet."

Now that he was undoubtedly silenced, Brian forced him to his stomach where he pressed his forehead into the carpet. He used his free hand to push his backside up into the air so he could sit up and position himself and he complied eagerly with shallow pants of expectation. As soon as Brian's cock was positioned properly, he ran his hand down Roger's shaft and used the come already dripping from it as lube along with his own.

The blonde couldn't help but practically scream in desire when Brian inserted himself. Brian had no complaints now, he didn't care if anyone saw them. It felt unconditionally _marvelous_. Roger bit the carpet below him and his knuckles turned a shade of white with how hard he was holding them to the ground.

Brian ran a hand up and down his friend's back roughly, leaving red strokes as he went, and bit his lip to hold back his own moans.

The noises erupting from the man in front of him was almost enough to make him come right there and then.

" _Hah_ , _ah_ , _ah_ ," Roger gasped with a string of spit running from his mouth to the carpet where a puddle of drool was forming from his reddened lips.

Brian wanted to tell him to be quieter but even he wasn't being too modest with how good he felt. 

After a few more minutes of slowly pushing, Roger grew antsy and dug his head into the carpet until he could feel his hair being tugged from the top.

"Br-Brian, harder!" He shouted without a care in the world.

"I don't want- to hurt you." Brian quickly said in between pants. The bruises and scarring were still somewhat fresh, and he was already avoiding grabbing him too roughly.

"You- _Ah_ , you won't." 

Brian did as he was asked and pushed harder until he could feel Roger's entire body tensing up and releasing multiple times. He moaned heavily and longingly and Brian gripped his sides tight for balance. 

Roger came with a long and high-pitched moan, and Brian wasn't far behind. They both sat and laid lazily on the floor recovering, sweat covering their bodies and now being soaked up by the carpet. Brian relaxed next to Roger and put his head by the blondes.

"That wasn't bad." Brian grinned, "Didn't cough once, maybe I'm getting better."

Roger didn't reply at the moment but he moved onto his back with a grimace, a hand going to his side that pulled back blood. "Fuck, I'm bleeding."

Brian's eyes went wide he bolted up, suddenly uncaring that he was still panting and out of breath. "Are you okay? Do we need to go to the clinic?"

He shook his head and frowned. "I'm fine, I think I just split my side a little. Can you help me up?"

Brian did as he was asked and helped Roger to his feet where he covered the injured side with his hand. He grinned once he was up and exhaled deeply.

"I just need to change the bandages, I'm not bleeding out." He explained once he saw the concerned look Brian was giving.

They made it upstairs to Brian's bedroom and went to the bathroom where Roger was sat on the edge of the tub and made to wait. He grabbed the bandages and began to clean the area, all the while they were both still naked which they tried not to pay attention to despite it being a mix of uncomfortable and entertaining.

"All of my sexy doctor daydreams never went quite like this." Roger joked with a fitting grin while crossing his legs.

Brian just then seemed to become aware of how ill-dressed he was because of a heavy dusting of crimson red spreading across his cheeks when he looked at his partner then himself.

"Just sit still, this won't feel nearly as good as you did a minute ago." He smiled at his joke and started to wipe away the blood from Roger's side as carefully as he could.

He only flinched a bit and with the new bandages on it felt much better than it did moments before. He could feel Brian's fingertips on his skin again, now investigating above his ribs where the flesh was uneven, most likely from the multiple breaks. 

Just for once he didn't feel dirty like his body was broken in some way. He felt good, in fact, despite his recent events.

"Do you wanna talk about earlier?" His friend asked gently, calming hands running up and down his sides.

Roger tucked his hair behind his ears and rolled his neck over his shoulders. "I have to don't I? Can't we just do what we did downstairs again?" 

"Maybe in a little while. I kind of wanted to talk to you about something." Brian admitted, but he seemed distant like he didn't want to speak again. Roger wanted to tell him he didn't have to, but he was prying to see where this would go.

"Um, sure, Bri." He self-consciously gave both himself and his friend a look up and down their nude bodies, a grin settling. "Maybe we should get a little less...Exposed?"

They could both agree on that and Brian motioned to follow him into the bedroom where they both rummaged through the closet. Both put on pajamas, leaving their clothes downstairs, and settled on the bed without mentioning the fact Roger would need somewhere new to sleep tonight.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk about this right now," Brian confessed with a shaking head.

The blonde shook his head as well. "No, you're always telling me I should be honest you know? Let's just get it over with."

This got Brian to agree. He really didn't want to be a hypocrite because that would set a bad example so he took a deep breath and put on a mask of courage that matched Roger's own in many ways.

"I think...I've been neglecting to talk to you about something. I-I know you won't want to talk about this," He brought his eyes up to the ceiling to stop the tears he knew were going to come. "but I think I need to say it. The way we broke up-"

"Brian."

"No, Roger, I need to say it."

They both stared in silence for just a brief moment before Brian finally continued.

"I shouldn't have done that to you. I was a fucking idiot clearly and God I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for doing that to you."

Roger nodded blankly, too many thoughts in his head from the day his first real heartbreak happened.

"I don't need you to forgive me, I don't even want you to- but I needed to say it."

Roger looked over at Brian and he genuinely seemed guilty for his past actions. He wanted to forgive him, but he also didn't. He fucked another girl in the bed he was sitting in now. Sure, the sheets were changed and the mattress was flipped, but she had been here while Brian fucked her and they both liked it. All the while she was blissfully unaware he'd already had a boyfriend.

Brian was depressed when it happened. Roger was too, but it doesn't matter now because he didn't even know he was. He hadn't come out of his room besides to attend only certain classes and get booze. Apparently on his list of two things he'd added a third, and her name was Mary.

Roger certainly wasn't on his list.

He forgave Brian when he shouted at him for trying to help, try to get him to shave and take a shower when his beard had turned uncomfortably scraggled. He even forgave him when he stayed out for three days doing god knows what and left Roger home alone to worry for him, only to find him coming home at four AM drunk enough to need his boyfriend to help him walk.

The turning point from understanding and waiting for his depressive state to run its course to shouting nearly every night and questioning if Brian loved him anymore was when Brian asked him, " _Are you ever gonna leave me alone? Get off my back, you're being weird."_

He was only trying to provide his boyfriend dinner, it was something small enough to hold down and light enough to be able to eat even if he was too sad to sit up. Up until that point, he was considerate and gentle. Now it was a matter of sleeping on the couch after he snapped and told his boyfriend, " _I'm trying to take care of you, and you won't let me!"_

His response was, " _Well maybe I don't want it, Roger, did you think of that? Or is this just about you?"_

The night that happened Roger stayed up all night with a box of tissues to keep him company along with his best friend and worst enemy; his thoughts. He thought about the moldy bread and marbles to comfort him even though he would have loved nothing better than to go up the stairs and tell his partner he loved him, that he'd be okay. _They_ would be okay.

The home was a battlefield when they were both depressed; Roger was high-functioning and Brian was low-functioning. 

Roger could go out, make jokes, and eat without an issue all the while a revolting monster attempted to drag him back to his bed so he could cry.

Brian, however, could only do one thing at a time without getting overwhelmed. He turned to alcohol for sanity and he was only normal when he drank himself into a smile. You would hardly be able to tell he was drunk until he told you or you got too close.

It was exhausting when they both got that way, but it was love. That's what Roger thought, at least. At the age of eighteen, he was sure he'd found the man he'd marry but apparently there were other plans set into place. 

When a girl named Mary called, it was a Thursday and Roger was eating toast over the sink to avoid the mess. Brian was sober for the first time in three days and running his hands down Roger's pants while he laughed and pushed his bottom into his hands while simultaneously hoping he was getting out of his funk.

Brian went to the upstairs for something the blonde couldn't remember, all he knew was that Brian's phone had begun to ring and he picked it up for him to hear a woman moaning his boyfriend's name.

He almost put the phone down, but he heard the woman suddenly ask, " _Brian, baby, you're coming over tonight right? I can hardly take it anymore, I'm absolutely soaked. I need you."  
_

If she hadn't said his name, nothing would have happened past that day. Brian could have continued to stick his hands down his boyfriend's pants and they would have had loving sex on the kitchen floor while Roger finished his toast, something they both would have laughed about. Maybe dinner at a nice diner. 

Then Brian would have ended the night by fucking some girl behind his back when he was asleep in bed. 

He wouldn't have known, and that's what matters. He wishes he never found out. He wishes that call never happened. Ignorance is better than ecstasy and Roger would know because he was pretty sure he'd taken every drug known to man by this point.

But, it did happen.

It was in the past now but the wounds were still fresh; the very thought inducing the pain of his shattered fist when he threw it into the wall when he ended the call returning into his left hand as if it had just happened again. 

He could remember the blood running down his hands, the crying, and the way Brian tried to hold him after he confronted him about the woman. He said he was sick, a drunk, and that he would do better but he wasn't sure if he was talking about in his relationship with Roger or Mary. 

Harsh words were thrown along with name calling and suddenly a life-long relationship was thrown out just like the condoms Brian carried after he had sex with both of his partners. 

"I never stopped loving you," Brian told Roger now on the bed. Fingertips went to his thighs and suddenly he was feeling shameful for missing everything the brunette had just said while he was thinking.

"I forgive you." Do  _I?_ "I understand."  _I don't._

Brian sagged in relief. "Roger I don't need you to forgive me-"

"I do." _Why am I saying this? He's letting me have an out. Take it._ "I'm really sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for."

_I don't. What if these are the same sheets he fucked her on? That was five years ago- get over it._

Brian wasn't a bad person, not in any sense, but at the moment Roger didn't exactly feel like being near him with their choice of conversation. The overwhelming feeling was back and suddenly he felt disgustingly out of place being in the home.

"Sorry. I think I'll go clean up the couch and make the bed." Roger suddenly choked out before practically springing out of the bed. Brian followed behind him and brushed his arm, getting him to turn around.

"Roger- please. I'm so, so, sorry. How can I make it up to you?"

Can you invent the time machine and un-fuck your girlfriend?

Each thought he had made him feel like shit; it had been five years and he was still resentful to someone who was remorseful. He'd gotten his tears out five years ago, but the tear stripes he'd had then were beginning to feel fresh again.

"Brian, I said it was okay. I promise it is, it's been five years. I was a kid and so were you," Roger continued. "I forgive you. I just don't feel very well right now and I don't want Freddie and John to see the...mess on the couch."

The brunette nodded and ran his hands over Roger's shoulders lovingly. "I'll help you out a bit. The chemicals are kind of strong and I don't want you to get sick."

So they cleaned the couch together. There was still a bit of a dark spot where he'd laid but it no longer smelled as strongly and they did the best they could. The time they spent together was loving and kind, and Roger's mind strayed from the earlier thoughts.

Brian stayed with him upon his request after he'd realized how lonely it would be by himself on the sofa. He forgave Brian three years ago, then right before he thought he'd die.

Now he wasn't sure what his view was, he just understood he no longer belonged in the May, Bulsara, and Deacon household and this time he wouldn't be so careless.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit got real, and shits gonna get even more real. trust me on THAT periodt  
> also ive been wanting to do a sex scene for like ever and here we are! after 11 chapters of waiting! wow!  
> comments are lOved  
> i can be found on tumblr @groovynspoiled and im more active on @feedermercury where i reply to dms much more often because tumblr confuses me tbh
> 
>  
> 
> -charlie


	12. For The Everyday Hero, It All Turns To Zero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger is tired of his leash-on life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i’ve finished on 3 (gonna be four here in a little while) chapters from last update to now so ENJOY! i’ve lost so much sleep and watched so many fucking horror movies in that time but I really like my ideas so i hope y’all are excited and enjoy :)  
> (note; i always watch a horror movie while i write drowse, it doesn’t even affect the plot or mood lmao)

The next three weeks were stressful for Roger. His play of feigned decency was getting harder to maintain with every new rule, regulation, and thing he couldn't do by himself in the house.

First, it was going outside for a smoke when he walked around the lawn too far and panicked John after he heard a car honk at him despite not being close to it. It was a matter of believing the car over Roger when he begged them to believe him that he didn't get close, that he was to be entrusted with a simple walk-around, but nothing was good enough apparently.

That event made him feel really good as you can probably imagine. 

The next thing he got taken away from him was cooking. He accidentally caught the microwave on fire from not removing the tin foil from a package of frozen burrito and a spark flickered that made the paper plate it was sitting on ignite as well. 

He understood the rule at that time because the entire thing shook him up too, but he didn't find it fair he couldn't even cook by himself anymore because of a simple accident. He was starting to think if he'd stubbed a toe he'd lose his walking privileges with how strict they were coming down on him.

While Brian looked for therapy options, Roger looked for jobs. The one thing he was allowed free-reign on was his phone and he used it as he pleased, even changing the password every so often despite not having anything to hide besides job and apartment listings he would be interested in. It wasn’t that they would take his phone and look through it like over-bearing parents, it was the concern that they would, even if it was unrealistic.

It wasn't sneaking around his friend's backs because all he was doing was finding somewhere else to go when he grabbed up a job. It sometimes felt like it could be sneaking, mostly because he didn't tell anyone, but he was an adult and he was doing adult things that they'd all done at one point.

To his friends, he was happier. He was getting better, maybe. But in reality, he was just suffocated into compliance. Restricted like a dog on a leash and his lead was getting tighter and tighter and he soon feared he'd be hanging by his neck from the fence he was bound to.

There were a few jobs around town he was interested in; coffee barista at a local shop, librarian, and multiple openings for a cashier at grocery stores. He could do any of those with ease and over the next few months, he'd be able to save up enough to get his own apartment.

Roger wasn't quite ready to tell Brian yet but he thought maybe if he got a job while still living with them he'd be able to pay his own rent and therefore the rules bound to him would start to fade since he wouldn't be free-loading.

That's what it's called when you stay rent-free, right? Free-loading? He was sure he was doing just that but he also knew the reason he came here in the first place.

Maybe there's another word for those who try and kill themselves and then get to stay at their ex-boyfriend's, who you sometimes now have sex with, house so he can help you get better.

The right word feels like charity, but people give to charity because they deserve it. He felt selfish for even accepting it by this point if it was the term since all he'd done is talk back and refuse the help he tried to give.

He craved it, but he didn't deserve it. He deserved it, but he didn't want it. 

How much more complicated could his life get?

All he knew was that the home he used to live in with his lover was no longer his own. The sheets felt unnatural against his skin now, the walls felt too familiar, and the hole in the wall from an argument long argued itched the back of his head when he wasn't looking. It all felt dirty like he could feel and hear the sheets fold under Brian and his mistresses bodies so many years ago.

His life was about to get a lot more manageable because he'd just found a job listing that didn't order a full resume, a resume he certainly didn't have since he didn't have a job before besides when he was a teenager. 

Soon enough, he was gonna be an employee bagging peoples groceries at a shopping mart near Brian's house, close enough for a jog. That could be good seeing he's getting more and more antsy being inside of the house without anything to do besides eat, sleep, watch TV, and talk to his three friends who treated him like a glass figurine.

He hesitated to tell Brian for days. It was only when Brian discussed going back to his own work after his illness had fully subsided that he brought the topic up.

"-Well, yeah you could do that. Or you could get a better job doing something you like." Freddie snarked with a hand on Brian's shoulder.

"And what do I like to do, Fred?"

"You like to complain a lot. You could be uhm...I don't know. Deaky help me find the words?"

John contemplated, "Professional whiner."

Freddie clicked his fingers and grinned brightly, "A professional whiner."

"Oh fuck off," He pushed his older friend's shoulder and he pushed back with a laugh. 

"I'd like a job." Roger suddenly inserted into the conversation, anxious hands on his thighs while he idled on the couch. Before anyone could speak, he added; "I've found one online, a grocery bagger. Not far from here. You know the market downtown?"

They looked at him like he had seven heads and he was almost tempted to check if he did.

"You're gonna get a job, Rog?" John asked through a cup of tea meeting his lips.

"It's been near four months since I had my surgery," He mentioned like the reason for the operation wasn't important, "I think my sides healed up enough to be okay. I can pay rent with the money I get and even get out of your hair." Roger faltered at the end of his sentence, nervous to mention the apartments he'd been looking at.

"I think that's a great idea-" Freddie started but was interrupted.

"Are you well enough to get a job? Not just your body, but you know. Mentally?" Brian suggested with a furrowed brow. He was expecting Brian to challenge his words, so he smiled.

"It's gonna be good for me, you know? Getting out and back to...real world things. I found some apartments online, I think maybe tomorrow we could go look at them if you don't want me to go alone."

"Roger this is a lot. Have you even thought about this?"

He paused in a loss. "Yeah, of course."

"I don't know. It just seems like a lot. You're still healing, and I've just found a great therapist who seems lovely. Maybe just another month or two, just to help you get settled in." Brian smiled warmly and Roger sighed in disappointment.

"Another two months? Brian, come on. I-I can go to therapy and get a job at the same time, I can. I'll be surrounded by people all day, what do you think is gonna happen?" He was practically begging him at this point and he even had his hand wrapped around Brian's wrist.

The brunette frowned. "I don't think you'd do anything, I know you're getting better, but...Maybe it's just not time yet?"

Roger drooped into the couch a bit. "Maybe not I guess." 

He didn't mean what he said, but he knew it was what Brian wanted to hear. Maybe it wasn't obvious to him how sick in the head he still was, but he felt better than he did when he first arrived. Nightmares were just apart of his nightly routine but he hadn't had another accident on the couch since the first time it happened and neither of them spoke about it.

Besides that, the only real issue he had was all of the rules he had. Suffocating, yes. Temporary? Hopefully.

There was always the background thought of, " _What would happen if I put my face on the oven?"_ and " _If I jumped in front of that car, would my body go here or there? Maybe both places depending on how fast he's speeding."_ but he never acted on them, he'd only ever acted on one of his 'what ifs' and it landed in him in the hospital after jumping from a bridge.

Suffice to say, Roger wasn't actively suicidal at the moment and that was something he was quite proud of for someone who'd been suicidal most of his life.

Therefore, being told over and over every accident he'd had in the home was him trying to kill himself was more than disconcerting.

What if he was and he had no idea? What if they were right to be giving him these rules and he was the crazy one? What if he did try and jump in front of that car while he was having a smoke and that's why he'd gotten honked at, or what if he purposely left the tin foil on his burrito?

Though in retrospect, death by fire burrito would be a pretty poorly executed suicide attempt.

Everything he did he second-guessed. If he walked outside he made sure he was within the boundaries of the porch, and if he got near the stove he kept his face clear away from the gas flames. No matter how safe he tried to keep himself, nothing seemed good enough obviously. He was still suicidal to them and even though it came from a place of care and love, he hated the way they were teaching it.

Communication could help the situation but Roger was stuck in a whirlwind of, " _You're the crazy one. They're helping, let them help and keep quiet."_ and, " _Talk to them and let them know you're being strangled by the house. They'll understand."_ _  
_

Neither one seemed particularly appealing so he went for saying neither and dealing with the choice.

The conversation continued without him, now going back to Freddie's choice of job that he'd enjoy. He wasn't paying much attention anymore because his gaze was set on the phone that showed him the job opening he wanted. If he didn't act soon the position would be filled and he wouldn't be able to find an opportunity like that again.

Everything seemed like a bit much at the moment and the conversation continuing only made it worse. He stepped outside wordlessly and lit a smoke that made the situation seem better, but not by much.

A voice called for him from the living room, but he ignored it. He made sure not to step off of the porch for his safety in case another car decided to fuck him over and honk at him for, hopefully, no reason.

"Rog? You feeling alright?" John asked him. He felt safe around him, less pressured to say the right thing since he mostly kept quiet in any case.

"M'okay, Deaks." He gave a cheery smile but it didn't last long. "Can I ask you something?"

The young man nodded and sat down next to his friend without a word.

"So, maybe I'm mad but...I don't know. The other day when that car honked at me-"

John looked up at him with a slight frown on his lips. "I'm really sorry I overreacted. I just got scared, you know? I tried to tell them you didn't get near it but they just worry 'bout you."

Now he didn't need to ask and a small weight was lifted from his shoulders since he knew that he didn't do anything.

"Sorry," John continued, "What was your question?"

"Nah you just answered it." Roger smiled. "Maybe you could do me a favor though?"

John looked up and his brows went up in question. Not a man of many words.

"Maybe you could try and persuade Brian that getting a job wouldn't be the death of me?"

They both grinned and the younger man nodded. "Of course I could. You know how Brian can get, especially lately with his having to go back to work and all."

Brian's need to return to work was incredibly stress-inducing for him since he'd be leaving the home for a while, even if he trusted Roger not to try anything. On top of that he still wasn’t completely in good health. He also trusted Freddie and John to look after him but he was reasonable to have his doubts. He just wanted his best friend to be okay at the end of the day.

"I get it. He doesn't really trust me." The blonde laughed bitterly.

"It's not that he doesn't trust you, I just don't think he trusts other people. He really, really loves you, you know. Doesn't want you to get hurt and all that. Sure, he has a lot of rules but maybe he's just trying to protect you."

Protection was the word of the day every day in the household it seemed. Getting rid of any sharp objects in the house was protection, then it was taking away Roger's cooking, then it was taking away the right to smoke by himself.

Protection was such a suffocating bastard and even though he understood John's words, as he'd had more than enough time to think them over before he even said it, he wanted out.

"Thanks, John." He said without being sure if he meant it. He wasn't mad at him for saying it, he just wasn't too thrilled with hearing it for what had to be the millionth time.

They sat in silence for a bit before Roger realized his cigarette was burning his fingertips and he quickly threw it off of the porch and dusted his fingers away on his trousers.

"Don't tell Brian about that, he'll think I tried to set myself on fire." Roger deadpanned though he wasn't sure he was kidding in the first place.

"Oh, okay," John returned utterly. He then stood and went back into the house without another thought.

That discussion gave him not much to think about while also giving him a lot to think about. How very complicated that was.

He only sat on the porch a bit longer before he went back inside of the home along with the rest of them. He sat on the couch, talked, and acted like he wasn't getting gradually upset as the day dragged on.

It was taking it out of him just to sit there and act normal and by the time dinner arrived, he was exhausted.

He couldn't really go to bed with everyone on the couch but it wouldn't be fair if he asked them to leave in their own home, so he curled into a ball on the side of the sofa and got comfortable. A gentle hand crossed through his hair and he knew it was Brian based on the way he touched him, so he eased into the touch.

"Should we leave?" He hinted with a tug of blonde hair over outstretched fingers. Roger shook his head and took his hand to Brian's.

"Stay. Your house." 

Brian shifted him into his thighs and he laid without hesitation, arms going around his legs. "Your house just as much as it is mine."

He wanted to reply but he suddenly didn't have the drive to do so. No point in arguing when they were having a nice, peaceful moment. Instead of a reply he simply shifted his head a bit and got more relaxed.

That seemed like a good enough response because he didn't hear anything after that.

He wasn't completely asleep, but he was asleep enough for his mind to wander. He could still feel fingers pressing and scratching against his scalp but his brain sort of quieted down for a bit and let him enjoy something for once.

Roger only woke up for a few moments when he felt something shift under him, and then when the person he was using as a pillow noticed he was awake he continued to run his fingers through the blonde hair.

"What time is it?" He mumbled while rubbing his forehead against the trousers below his head.

"Eleven."

"At night?"

"No, you actually slept. Must have been good too." Brian's smile was evident in his voice and when Roger peered up, he was right. The sun displayed through the windows and he could hear birds chirping in his ears.

He sat up and ran his palms over his face with a bit of guilt. "Did you sit here all night?" 

"I slept a bit, but I mostly watched telly." Brian poorly held back a laugh. "You still talk in your sleep, you know that? Told me all about something but you didn't make much sense so god knows."

"Oh, shut up." Roger pushed him a little and Brian took his hand in his own. 

"You hungry?" 

He wasn't exactly but its the thought that counts, particularly when you're trying to earn your way to trust. Apart of winning trust was eating breakfast even when he didn't want to.

"Yeah, I am."

Brian made breakfast and Roger stayed at the kitchen table, away from the oven just in case he indeed decided to find out what it would feel like to shove his head inside. Just staying  _protected_ as everyone likes to say.

"Okay, so I can't cook as well as Freddie but we're gonna try," Brian told while taking eggs out of the carton like they were made of glass. "let's hope I don't give both of us some sort of disease."

"We probably both have diseases. What's another one if this doesn't turn out well?" Roger beamed and Brian rolled his eyes while cracking a few eggs into a pan, sizzling loudly and popping.

"So far so good." The older man sighed with satisfaction in his work. He turned on his heel and pressed his back against the kitchen counter. "So, anyway, I go back to work tomorrow. Maybe we should discuss that?"

Roger looked up from a cup of coffee he was able to make by himself. "Why?"

The question seemed to confuse him a little but he continued nevertheless, "I just mean- are you gonna be okay without me around for a little while a day?"

"Sure."

He smiled and sighed deeply like he was sighing every negative worry he had out into the oxygen. "Okay, excellent. I was worried."

"How?"

"Because I always worry. You know me."

"You know, Brian, I can survive by myself for a few hours a day."

"I do, Rog. I know. I just don't want anything to happen."

Seemed reasonable enough.

Breakfast was made and eaten and the subject was mostly dropped. Roger's mind stayed on the topic of jobs, however, and he soon realized it was going to be too late for getting the position as a grocer if he didn't act on the day.

The only concern was that he couldn't drive himself and there was no possible way they were going to let him walk downtown and back by himself. With Brian's anxiety from the night before about it being too early to get a job he wasn't even sure he'd be able to persuade him to take him to the interview.

When John and Freddie came down to eat their own breakfast, he figured if he was near the other two it would go down better when he asked. He was starting to feel ridiculous being so apprehensive around Brian like he was his father, it wasn't like he was going to beat him for telling him his feelings.

Now Brian was in the kitchen washing the dishes and Roger was still at the kitchen table where the other two residents were as well. 

He lingered for a bit of time so he could consider what to say.

"Brian, do you think you could give me a ride to the market later? The interview is today. I don't...wanna miss it." He peered over his shoulder to Brian but he couldn't see his expression since his thick, curled hair was in the direction of his face.

"Wait, you already scheduled it?" Brian asked and turned around with a confused look.

"It’s a walk-in situation, I just thought maybe it would be okay."

"Roger, I don't know. I mean, we talked about this last night."

Roger turned fully around in his seat and threw his forearm around the back of the chair. "I remember, and I think it'll be okay.”

Roger continued, "You're gonna be at work too, why does it matter?"

Brian turned the faucet off and dried his hands off with thoughts clearly running through his head. "Because...Roger, we discussed this last night."

"Because you didn't try to jump off of a bridge?"

He stared at him and furrowed his brow. "Roger, don't do this."

"Why can't you just trust me?" Roger said but as soon as he saw Brian move to reply, he continued; "I'm just asking for a ride, I really don't want to get into everything else."

The older man remained with his mouth open before crossing his arms over his chest. "Okay, wait, now I'm intrigued. Everything _else?_ "

Since the gates were already cracked, Roger decided he might as well open them and flood the lake.

”I’m talking about all of these... Rules you’re suffocating me with. It’s exhausting, Brian. I’m not gonna blow my brains out if I get out of the house for more than a few minutes!” His voice rose while he spoke and by the end of his rant, he was shouting. 

He sighed shakily and put his hands on the table to relax himself. His back rose and fell heavily with his breathing and he steadied himself.

Brian nodded a bit and for a moment Roger believed he understood. “You have to try and see this from my perspective, Rog-“

“No, Brian, I don’t. I don’t remember you jumping off of a bridge, and I don’t remember you needing to get an emergency operation just so you don’t accidently trip on your own guts.” Roger took a deep breath and stood up from his seat as calmly as he could. “So don’t even try and tell me to see this from your perspective because frankly, I don’t fucking care. Talk to me about perspectives when you try, and fail, to jump off of a bridge.”

”Maybe you should sit down-“ John started to say upon seeing how worked up his friend was getting. 

“Don’t tell me what I need to do! I’m tired of being told what to do.” He pointed a finger towards the voice without giving him the respect of eye contact. He quieted down as soon as the words left the blonde's mouth in complete guilt.

Something similar to guilt ran through Roger himself but at the moment he was too angry to feel much of anything else.

”You haven’t been much of a peach either, you know. I’ve done everything I can to take care of you these past months. You know why I did that?” Brian shifted away from the kitchen sink and put his hands on his hips. “Because I care about you! I care if you hide razor blades in your backpack, I care if you try and run off away from us because you’re sad, and I care if you’re trying to kill your self!”

Brian put a hand over his face and rubbed back and forth hastily. He continued, ”Why are we fighting about this? Why do we always have to fight about everything?” 

The response didn’t come for another few seconds but they felt excruciating for both parties. 

“Brian I’m just not sure why you think you can tell me what I’m allowed to do. I’m twenty-three, not some kid who you can control.” Roger got a bit closer, putting everyone in the room on edge. “I-I take the medicine, I stay away from things that could harm me, and I do whatever you want. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing wrong here!”

"You haven't done anything wrong, I'm protecting you because I love you and I don't want anything to happen to you."

"You love me, yeah?"

"Yes, Roger. I do."

"And so then when we were dating, you _loved_ me enough to fuck some girl in our bed?"

Brian took a step backward defensively. "What does that have to do with- Maybe we should talk outside."

Roger traveled back and forth around the kitchen just in front of the table with a hand over his forehead, fingers stressfully intertwined into his hair. "It has to do with everything,  _Brian._ I shouldn't have ever come back here knowing how you can get. Knowing that this was the place where you-" He stopped walking and closed his eyes sealed tight. "Broke my heart. I would have been better off staying in that hospital."

"I don't know how many more times I can tell you I'm sorry," Brian scolded in his own defense. "I wasn't well, Roger, I was ill. I don't know what else I can do to make you believe I'm sorry for what I did."

The blonde turned on his heel and got far too close to Brian for anyone's comfort. Both John and Freddie inched forward in their chairs, Freddie beginning to stand. Brian only stared down at Roger with a determined, but dull, expression despite the tears starting to burn his throat.

"You were a drunk. If I'd let you, you would have drank yourself to death. I loved  _you_ , you didn't give a fuck about me." Roger said followed by a pitiful, but noticeable, flinch when Brian shifted his weight onto his other foot.

Brian's entire body felt frozen and stiff like ice water replacing his warm blood. He didn't dare look to his friends who were still silently observing their fight because the humiliation would be far too much to bear. Just as suddenly as his blood's freezing, the tears he was trying to fight back were gone but Roger's own eyes were beginning to look glassy.

He wanted to respond with something rational, perhaps an apology. His mind and his mouth completely disconnected and he leaned in a bit, nearly brushing his nose against Roger's. "Guess it didn't fall far from the tree, huh, Rog?"

Roger's cheeks were quickly flushed and stroked with tears and he began to step back but just as Brian was sitting up again, he twisted back and drove his fist directly into the center of his face with an accompanying crunch that struck through the kitchen. Blood gushed as soon as his fist connected and he brought his hand that now throbbed from the punch to his chest.

Freddie leaped up and seized Roger by the waist as swiftly as he could and the younger man in his arms strained a whimper through his clenched teeth. Brian sat ahead of them with both hands over his face and blood was spurting from his nose through the cracks of his fingers, panting laboriously.

"Fuck you, Brian!" Roger cried as he attempted to push out of Freddie's arms which only grasped him tighter until the pressure on his stomach was beginning to ache. "You have no idea the pain I went through!"

"What the hell am I supposed to tell you? It's been five years, I've said I'm sorry!" Brian countered. His voice was now a bit nasal, and he spat blood with each word from the drippage. 

"Sorry doesn't un-fuck the cunt you took over me. She didn't even fancy you, you were just some guy to use. Did she even know about me? Go on, tell me!"

The older man took his hands off from his face and gazed down at the blood that trickled from them with a grimace. His entire face felt like it was on fire and he was almost positive Roger had broken his nose. "No, Roger, she didn't," Brian admitted with a finger gently pressed to the bridge of his nose that throbbed agonizingly. He could feel split skin pulsating fluid down his face and shirt now.

Roger scraped in place and grabbed Freddie's hands around his torso tighter in anger. Brian didn't even seem to care what he was saying to him which made the rage inside of him grow further enthusiastic. "So, you could be there for a woman you didn't know but not your own boyfriend. I see. I needed you too, you know." He shot a pointed hand up but it soon curled into a fist. "And you did that to me."

"You made it so difficult to love you what else was I supposed to do?"

Roger's jaw slammed shut and his eyes widened. He no longer was feeling much of any emotion, no anger or sadness inside of him. The look on Brian's face was more than he could manage because he could practically feel the absolute guilt radiating off of him. He didn't want apologies anymore, even when he could sense his cheeks heat up and twist into a pained pout that dragged tears out of his eyes faster than he could hold back. 

Freddie's arms were weighed down by Roger's body going a bit slack, demanding to pull him up to prevent him from collapsing to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

"Fuck you, Brian," Roger whispered. "I hate you. I don't ever wanna see you again."

Brian needed to say something back. Say anything back, but he couldn't force any words to come out of his blood-soaked lips. Roger could be challenging, but so could he. They were human and humans were complicated. Now he had said something even more complicated and he didn't mean it, but based on the look on Roger's face he unquestionably meant what he'd said.

John and Freddie were in complete silence along with the other two. When Freddie turned to John, his gaze was at the table and he looked just as uneasy as he felt himself.

Freddie's clutch around Roger relaxed and he took the opportunity to push away from him as swiftly as he could with an upset look towards the man who was holding him. "Don't touch me again."

"Alright, alright," Freddie put his hands up in a defensive manner. "Apologizes."

Roger only gave him a glance up and down his body as an acknowledgment, though it was more of a warning. He backed out of the kitchen and turned on his heel when he was sure no one was going to stop him then continued walking. 

"Rog, where are you going?" Brian asked from the kitchen. He'd taken a seat a moment before and his head had begun to swim, but the bleeding relaxed a bit.

"Why do you care?" Roger replied in a snap. 

"Because I care about you."

"Oh, that must be difficult to do since I'm so hard to love." He laughed bitterly and continued speaking under his breath, "Didn't seem hard to love me when you were fucking me a few weeks ago."

"Roger, I didn't-"

"No, I don't want explanations. I don't want anything from you anymore." Roger slew his backpack over his shoulders and took a deep breath. "I'm leaving."

Brian stood and balanced himself on the countertop. Freddie took his arm when he swaggered. "Roger I don't think that's a good idea."

The blonde huffed and put his hands in his pockets with a frustrated smile on his face. "I don't care."

Clearly, nothing was going to stop him, so the rest of the group allowed him to do what he pleased while still in the home. He packed the rest of his things, taking a coat with him, and opened the front door. He found hesitation lying in wait and he paused anxiously. 

He almost allowed himself to be strung back into the house by his thoughts of regret settling in but he forced them to the back of his mind in favor of stepping out of the home. He knew this was his last chance to go back and frankly he wasn't sure he cared at the moment.

As soon as he closed the door he felt all of the anger he was holding in well up inside of him all at once, and when he stepped off of the porch with his hands racing through his hair at a million miles an hour, the anger popped and he began sobbing through gritted teeth.

He walked until he knew he was out of sight of the home, then until he wasn't sure where he was, then until he felt too tired to continue walking. He sat down on the pavement in which he stood moments before and hugged his backpack to his chest, trembling despite the warm weather. 

When the day dripped into the darkness he used his phone's light to navigate his way and eventually found himself in an empty park where he could relax for a bit.

He had no idea where he'd walked to or how far it was from Brian's home but he did know where he was going to next.

 

* * *

 

"This is gonna hurt a lot, my love, so don't scream." Freddie grinned brightly and Brian nodded with a similar smile, though it was more of anticipation than anything.

"Do it on three?" John asked beside Brian.

All three of them nodded and Freddie began to count.

"Okay, one...two..." He put two fingers on the bridge of Brian's nose and twisted to the right abruptly. There was a crunch and Brian shouted in pain, recieving a slap on the arm from his friend who's hand was now smudged in blood. "I told you not to scream! If the neighbors call the police I have no choice but to tell them you were being a little bitch."

"You told me we were going on three, Freddie! _Fuck_!" Brian brought both hands to his face and leaned back into the couch with his head tossed back.

"You act like you haven't seen any movie ever. Everyone knows when someone says _we go on three_ , you actually mean _we go on two_. You watch movies, I've seen you watch movies!"

Brian groaned deep in his throat and rolled his eyes. "We have bigger issues to worry about than what movies I haven't seen, Freddie."

"Just trying to lighten the mood." 

He appreciated the effort, but it was poorly timed and he was still in pain. Physical pain he could handle, his nose would heal and the pain would subside. The emotional anguish of the day he'd had wouldn't be so easy to fix.

"God, I can't believe I said that." Brian ran a hand down his thighs and winced when John began to dab his face with a cloth wetted with rubbing alcohol. "I can't believe  _he_ said  _that."_

"He was upset. You were too, I'm sure you didn't mean it." The youngest smiled a little and continued to pat the area as gently as he could. Freddie nodded in agreement.

"Doesn't matter what we meant. We said it."

Freddie removed a bandage from a package but Brian took it from his hands and sat up, away from the touch of both friends by his side.

"I'll give him 'till tomorrow. If he doesn't come around I'll call someone."

John winced at the thought of how Roger would react to such a thing. "You're sure that's a good idea?"

Brian lifted his arms and dropped them back to his thighs. "I don't know what else to do. He doesn't have any of his medication, no inhaler, and god knows what he's running off to do. If he..." He took a deep, shuttering breath. "If he...hurts himself, it'll be on me."

"He'll be fine. Don't worry. He's just a tad pissed off."

Brian hoped so. He didn't know what he'd do if he found out the cops had found his body.

"I shouldn't have been so hard on him."

"You did what you thought best."

But his best drove Roger away.

"I was too severe."

Now there was silence. Brian wasn't sure if it was because he'd started crying again or because he'd worn the other two down into agreement when he didn't automatically accept their version of the truth.

After the silence, though not broken by the brunette, Freddie gave Brian something for his nose to help the pain. It caused everything to seem like the color green. Not in shade, more in the way it sounds when it leaves your lips.

The pain subsided and so did his drive to stay awake, so he went to sleep on the couch after the pills had begun to give him an intoxicated green feeling that dissolved into a moody blue. Not overwhelming, just enough to make him question things.

Freddie and John stayed with him after he commented on how he felt a bit nauseous. They would have stayed with him even if he didn't feel sick, but they'd rather have the excuse of illness instead of, " _We're worried you might go out in this state to find Roger and you could end up in another country."_

It didn't take him long to fall asleep with something to help numb the pain, and seemingly his subconscious as well. 

His friends just hoped he would be as okay as he is now the next day.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi it’s durrently 4:51 pm as i write this and i’m in a car. I edited this whole thing in a car cause me and my family are gonna go get snacks uwu anyways enjoy this chapter i’m really happy with it and i’m excited for what’s next 💞 COMMENTS ARE LOVED AND ENCOURAGED!


	13. Brian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian deals with his choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait- I got sad as always and decided not to write for a little while- well i did write but i didnt edit. I have about 4 chapters completed, 3 if you dont count this one, but none are edited so ill do that and the chapters should come faster. i hope yall like this one, its a bit shorter. in the next few days ill upload the next chapter which is called Roger. comments and kudos are VERY welcomed, ill shit my pants when i get to 200 kudos honestly because i wasnt expecting sO much lovefor this fic but honestly im so glad yall like it so much, its such an important fic to me :)

Brian woke to a pounding migraine; like he'd drank a hundred liquor stores and now he had the worst hangover in his life. 

His nose was the origin of the pangs and he knew that for certain because when he reached a hand up to his face, he felt a shock-wave shoot of burning pain through him and he nearly shouted in pain. He would have done so if John wasn't right below him resting on the floor by the couch like a dog at his owner's feet.

Freddie was nowhere to be seen, but the car was missing outside and he had to assume he'd left with it for whatever he might have to do. Maybe he went to look for Roger.

Oh. _Roger_.

In the blissful ignorance of the first moments of consciousness, he'd completely forgotten about the day before. He wished he'd not remembered.  Gone was the content of waking up, now only replaced by grief and bitter regret.

John seemed to be on the same track as he was and woke just a moment after him. He sat up and ran his hands through his long, dark hair with a drawn-out yawn. He looked behind his shoulder and smiled at his friend on the couch and they both heard a sound of John's spine cracking into place.

"The floor isn't that bad if you're already tired. Can't say the same for waking up." John humored.

"You could have gone to your room, Deak."

"I was more than happy to be with you and Fred. Even on the floor."

Brian nodded and reached his neck a little to see out the window through the curtains where the car was still missing. "Speaking of- where is Freddie?"

John seemed just as surprised and he stood to look outside as well. "You think he went out to find Roger?"

"I hope not."

"You hope not?"

"Roger wants to be left alone. We haven't given him his day yet. Tomorrow, we'll call." Brian forced back tears and stood with a smile. He couldn't allow himself to cry now so early in the morning just waking up, that would be pathetic for both of them, Brian thought. "Anyway, I should get dressed for work."

John stared up at him in confusion. "You're still going to work today? You're not well yet. And even after..." He dawdled off and shook his head to let go of the subject in question.

"I have to, John. It's not exactly optional." He reached a hand up to his nose and winced in pain. The bandage was wet now, and the bandage tape had begun to un-stick to the skin around his face. "Do we have any more bandages?"

Almost on queue, Freddie marched through the door holding grocery bags. He was smiling and Brian was starting to wonder if it was out of personal pleasure or sympathy for him. 

"Hello my darlings, are we all awake and decent?" Freddie asked the room even though he could see they all were quite awake and decent. "I've brought some things to make our tallest and wisest friend feel a bit better."

He pulled out a box of bandages and threw them back into the bag, shaking it to show that there was more.

"I've brought some creams, bandages, whatever else I got." Freddie gestured at the bag and looked back up to Brian who was nodding along. "So come, sit, and let's get you looked at. Doctor Bulsara is in the building."

"Come on, Fred, I can do it-"

"No, no, no. Come. Sit. No alternatives. This is what you get for being a stubborn brat and refusing to go to the doctor."

Brian rolled his eyes and sat on the couch again. He sat back when Freddie rested a hand on his chest and pushed him lightly. The older man took the supplies out and peeled the bandage from his friend's nose, he hissed under the feeling of the paper being pulled back.

Underneath the bandage was fresh blood and torn flesh on the bridge of his nose. It looked like it could possibly need stitches, but Brian had made it clear the day before that he wasn't going to the hospital.

"Are we still refusing to go to a real doctor?" Freddie asked with a grimace upon seeing the torn flesh. He had no idea Roger was such a good throw but he unquestionably was because he'd broken the bone clean.

"Is it bad?" Brian asked in a slight panic. His curls ducked into his face and his friend removed the strings of hair from the wound.

"Not too grave. Your nose might be a bit lopsided if we don't go to a hospital and let them fix you correctly, however." Freddie grinned before continuing, "Not that it wasn't before, sweetheart."

"Fuck off, Fred," Brian returned with a smile, no real venom behind his remark.

Freddie took his lack of answer as a response and went ahead and began cleaning the wound himself. It hurt considerably and Brian kept having to look away to get him to stop. Once a new bandage was placed over, he was able to relax despite the tension building in his shoulders. He was sure if the stress inside of him grew any further, it would push out of him in an explosive tantrum of tears and shouting. For now, he held it in and pushed it down; not allowing himself the satisfaction.

"Is your face feeling okay?" John asked after Brian's nose was dressed.

"What, my nose? It feels like someone broke it."

"No, around your eyes." John made a circle with his index finger around his own eyes.

Brian furrowed his brow and touched the skin around his eyes. It was sensitive and hurt when he did, but he was only sure up to this point that it was his nose that was the thing that hurt. He hadn't had any reason to look in the mirror and even if he did, he wouldn't want to. 

He stood and walked to the bathroom and after turning the light on, he leaned into the mirror and inspected himself. The skin around his eyes was dark, not from lack of sleep but from bruises beginning to form. They'd only get darker and if that happened he knew he would look completely out of place at work, even if he worked in the kitchen at the back of the restaurant.

"Goddammit, Roger." He mumbled while bringing two fingers to rest under his right eye. Freddie popped his head in and gave a, what was supposed to be, comforting smile but came out as faux happiness that put Brian on edge.

"It's not _that_  terrible. A little bit of makeup and you'll hardly know."

Brian knew he was trying to help but the sentiment came off irritating to him given his poor mood.

"I'll get an infection if I put makeup over this. _God_ , what if Roger gets an infection?" He wanted to put his head in his hands but had to stop himself from any more discomfort.

"How about we worry about  _you_ right now? Hm? Can we worry about _Brian_?" Freddie pets him on the shoulder and he eased into the touch. He said it like he wasn't also deeply worried for the missing member of the home.

"I guess," He agreed. "But there are more important things to worry about."

"Well, we can think of those later. Are you going to work today?"

"Yeah, I have to."

"Well, you can't go in looking like that, no offense. You poor thing. Let's get some of this covered up."

Freddie took him by the wrist and guided him out of the bathroom then up to his bedroom. 

Freddie's bedroom was the second largest room in the home and it was also the most decorated. Posters were lining the walls of magazine cut out's and musicians including Jimi Hendrix and Frank Sinatra. There's a large keyboard by his window and the bed is covered in satin sheets, messy from sleep. Brian was sat at a plush seat in front of a large vanity mirror and he could hardly look at himself from the shame boiling inside of him. 

"I have no clue as to what shade your skin is, this is why you should have let me practice makeup on you!" Freddie complained dramatically while rummaging through his neatly-packaged supplies.

Brian looked away from the mirror and tucked his neck into his hands, staring downward in guilt with his jaw crunched against the sides of his palms. He wasn't certain what he felt guiltiest about at the moment, so his body forced him to feel it all at once. He could hardly breathe and it took all he could to compose himself for the man behind him. The last thing he wanted or earned, was his concern-soaked pity.

"Okay, this might sting just a bit." He warned with a fingertip covered in concealer. He dabbed the bruising area lightly and Brian winced under the touch, the skin still raw and tender.

Brian couldn't take his mind off of the fact that he was missing someone in the home. He couldn't go downstairs and find Roger sitting on the couch or outside with a cigarette in his mouth. He wouldn't know if he's okay until the next time he saw him if he ever saw him again. Roger seemed to make it clear he hated him when he left, and he'd avoided him for over five years so it was possible there could be another five before they gathered again.

He didn't notice until Freddie stopped speaking and applying makeup to his face that he'd begun crying again, this time wordlessly.

A thumb smoothly reached across his cheeks to wipe the tears away and he allowed the action. Freddie bent down to his level and took his chin, lifting it to show him his face. He almost looked away to avoid looking himself in the eyes but his gaze fell to the flesh just below, now covered by makeup that smoothed out the skin. Only if you knew what was underneath would you be able to see the faint blackness underneath the concealer, but since no one but the four people who were there the day before knew, no one would know.

"Looks good, Freddie." Brian smiled and looked towards his friend who returned the favor. His eyes were still glassy and he sniffled pathetically without quite realizing he was before he did it. Even the action of sniffling hurt his face, and he winced.

"Maybe you should take something for the pain before you leave for work?" Freddie asked quietly.

Brian shook his head. He didn't need to be at work and suddenly fall asleep while elbow deep in dish suds because he felt a little out of it from the pain-killers. The pills were prescribed to Roger for his hip so they certainly worked, as they showed Brian the night prior when everything felt like the color green, but he felt like he could handle it for a few hours without assistance. His only concern was crying abruptly at work if he couldn't hold it in.

"No, I don't need anything. Thanks, though." He nodded and stood from the vanity with a bit of a light head. He didn't falter this time and he made his way out of the bedroom after giving his friend a bit of a thank you in the form of a pat on the back.

Once inside of his bedroom he stroked the top of the unmade bed. The sheets wrinkled and needed a wash, but he wasn't sure he'd have the time nor energy to do so. In the laundry bin already was his blood-soaked shirt from the argument from the previous day and a few pairs of pants. His attention re-focused to his closet and he dug through his arranged clothing on hangers until he found his work apparel, his plastic name tag joined to the front clicked against his belt when he took the outfit out.

Brian could practically feel the way his heart raced when he first got the call that Roger had jumped from a bridge. The initial terror of death, then a detached numb calmness not unlike what was flowing through him right now.

When he changed into his clothes and slipped his non-slip shoes on, he made his way downstairs and used the bathroom near the door to perhaps try and wipe some of the blood running down his injury from his face for the sake of looking professional. He knew there was no way to completely fixed the way his nose had become swollen and a bit bent, but the bandage tried to conceal it as best as it could.

"Should I take the bus or am I okay to use the car?" Brian asked from the bathroom. John was somewhere in the home most likely now with Freddie but he couldn't see either of them.

"You can take the car, keys are in the bowl," John called back from somewhere around the kitchen. By the sound of birds chirping clearly, it was most likely he was standing in the doorway of the backdoor having a smoke.

"Alright well, I'm leaving." He called to the house. Freddie raced downstairs as soon as he heard him say that, and he quickly wrapped him in a hug.

"Don't worry about today. Tomorrow Roger will come back and we'll I'll make something good for dinner tonight. Sound good?"

"Absolutely." 

"Great. Have a great time at work, my love."

Freddie leaned up and pressed a kiss to Brian's jawline and they both smiled. The older man escorted him to his car like he was on his way to the first day of school and even topped it off by waving him goodbye while he backed out of the driveway.

Maybe it wasn't as silly as he'd originally thought because he found himself with a touch of a smile on his face instead of allowing the thoughts previously infesting his head to surface again. Though now that he was alone he found himself scanning street corners, alleyways, and pavement for his missing friend in hopes he could have decided to walk home or stopped not too far away.

He even pondered over the idea of checking by the supermarket to see if Roger could be there or if anyone had seen him.

The mere thought of what he'd said the previous day, and what its reply was, brought tears to his eyes again. He had to force himself to hold them back despite being alone now because he didn't want the concealer under his eyes to rub off and reveal the bruising. Sure, the broken nose was unusual, but it would only be a literal and metaphorical, eye-sore to anyone who saw it, especially since he had no idea if he'd be moved to do other things in the restaurant away from the safety of the back kitchen.

The drive wasn't too long but he deliberately took his time as to not show up glassy-eyed and on the verge of tears, ready to be spilled at any moment. Not to mention the fact he was still searching for Roger even if he knew the ache of coming up empty would trouble him.

It was only when he was honked at by someone behind him who was annoyed he was going too slow that he decided to give up on his struggle for finding his friend. There was no point in looking anyway as he was probably long gone. 

Maybe it was for the best that he left. He was too firm on him, Brian understands. If he had the option he'd leave too, but unfortunately, he was stuck inside of his own body.

When he finally loitered his car to his place of work he started to feel the familiarity of the restaurant ahead of him creep into his subconsciousness. He was unsure how to feel about being back to work but at least it would give him something to do to keep his mind off of things.

Brian entered the back doors of the establishment and felt crisp air run through his hair when he pushed the heavy doors open, seeing a light crowd of people walking back and forth through the kitchen and main area where guests were being served food.

He first saw his manager, Joe, standing by one of the double doors to the restaurant and approached him with a weary, too-wide grin that told his manager he was hoping to hide the fact he had a busted nose. Clearly, his effort to ignore the obvious wasn't going to slide and his colleague's eyes widened in shock.

"Woah, what happened to you?" Joe called out in a bit of a panic. His hands went up and fingertips nearly touched the bandage around his employee's nose but he avoided feeling it as to not damage him.

"Nothing just got in a bit of an accident," Brian answered as if it was nothing. "But I'm okay, just a bit sore is all."

"Looks pretty nasty, mate. You're sure you're okay?"

Boy, he was just a peach.

"I'm fine, Joe." He replied weakly. "Where do you want me?"

Joe thought it over for a second and even tapped himself on the jawline for added dramatic effect. "Not in the front, I don't want you where guests can see until your nose is fixed," He smiled and then backtracked, continuing with; "No offense, Bri."

Brian stared for a moment but made himself to not provide any hint that his comment was insensitive. Joe was interesting as a person but daft as a pouch of hammers and if you were nice enough he'd back-hand offensive comments until you couldn't see straight.

He's what Brian called 'Big Crayon'; meaning you would have to spell things out for him with a big ass crayon until he realized he was being a stinker. Other than that he was an excellent companion.

Brian understood and agreed. He was stored in the back towards the kitchen to do his regular duty of cleaning up after the kitchen crew and help with whatever they might need. It was fine, he had something to do, but since he was alone in the sink area his mind had time to wander.

Brian's mind pictured everything that could have happened by now. He could be lifeless in an alleyway, or a different country. He could even be back on the bridge. Brian didn't want to think about that but his mind kept taking him to the thought of what happened that night.

How scared and lonely Roger must have been. The note he was read by Roger himself plagued his mind and he wondered what he looked like writing the words down on the paper. He wondered what he looked like when he took his hands off of the railing of the bridge and dropped to what he'd thought would be his end.

Brian found his cheeks wet and his nose throbbing harshly with each of his sniffles. He quickly swiped the tears from his eyes and composed himself before anyone noticed he was crying while his hands were sunk deep into the soapy water and unwashed plates.

He felt a bit stupid allowing himself to get carried away in his thoughts when he was at work but if anyone had noticed he could blame his emotions on the pain of his face which had begun to throb more than he'd like. 

For the rest of his shift, he quietly talked to himself to keep his mind off of things. Just under his breath so no one could hear him, and when people walked by he'd stop so they couldn't see his lips moving. It was weird at first because he wasn't one to speak more than a few words to himself out of boredom or when he found something to remind himself about and needed to remember, but once he got talking he got used to it.

He made jokes to himself and tried to keep his enjoyment to a minimum and soon he was finding his shift was over when his manager tapped him on the shoulder to tell him.

"You're enjoying yourself, huh? Enjoying yourself so much you'd like to stay?" Joe grinned with his hands placed over his thin hips.

"Maybe a little, but not _that_ much," Brian replied while drying his hands.

"Well, it was nice seeing you. Same time tomorrow?"

Of course, it would be. He'd seen the schedule, but for a moment the fact it was a joke slipped his mind. "Oh, yeah absolutely. Nice seeing you too."

Brian slipped out of the building as quickly as he could, avoiding any other employees who would be up for a chat. As soon as he was out and back into the cool nighttime air, his false ego of entertainment when talking to himself dwindled and he was left lonely and bare. 

He made his way to his car and merely sat inside with his hands on his lap, staring at the steering wheel. He was void of anything emotion he could think of and he couldn't get even his darkest thought to come by. 

That was when someone ahead of his car strolled by. Short compared to his height, blonde, and pale. Brian quickly rolled down his window and popped his head out, squinting to get a better view. He could make out the features and he quickly opened his door and stumbled out.

"Roger!" He shouted to the young man.

He turned around and when he could see the blonde a bit better, he realized it wasn't his friend. Simply a very confused stranger.

"Sorry, mate. Not Roger!" The stranger exclaimed back.

It would have been amusing if it wasn't so damn upsetting. Brian got back in his car and took a few breaths. 

He'd fucked up this time.

No turning back, no fixing it. Even if he wanted to he couldn't because who knew where Roger was?

He'd fucked up this time. Really bad.

When he got home he was greeted to Freddie and John's excited faces and they were greeted to his morose expression of guilt and grief. Probably not what they wanted but it's what they got and both of their expressions fell when he entered the door and attempted to brush off their hugs.

"We made dinner. Spaghetti." John said.

"I'm not actually that hungry," Brian replied.

"You don't want dinner? Do you need anything?" Freddie asked.

"No, I think I'll go to bed."

They didn't want to stop him from doing what he wanted but Freddie did take him by the arm and guide him to the bathroom to once again change the bandages on his face. Brian settled down without an argument and allowed his friend to clean the area, including the makeup, and re-bandage the area.

Freddie took out a sheet of bandages and looked up at his friend, "How was work, dear?"

"S'okay. Nothing special." 

"All of that food around you didn't make you hungry?"

"Honestly I couldn't eat even if I fancied to, Fred." Brian smiled weakly and brushed his long curls out of his face when Freddie took the plastic off of the bandage.

"We'll find him and make sure he's safe. You don't need to fret." 

"We don't know that. We don't know anything, actually." He said bitterly. The dressing was placed onto the bridge of his nose and he felt the cotton rub the split skin. "He doesn't have any of his medicines, he could stop breathing from an asthma attack and he'd have no one to help." His voice rose until he was practically shouting, and John had entered the bathroom to see if all was well.

"Don't talk like that." John scolded. "He's fine."

Brian's gaze went to the youngest and his expression softened when he saw how discomforted he was from listening what he'd said. "Sorry, John. I'm just concerned."

"That's okay." He replied.

When Freddie wrapped the rest of his nose up and removed the makeup, he took notice to the bruising becoming more evident. The yellow-green with spots of blue had begun to turn purple and black. Both he and John took notice, but neither commented as it would do nothing more than upset him.

After he had his bandages changed he was able to go to his room without any pressure to stay and eat. They had found out how to deal with him in college not long ago, just after he'd been left by Roger. They knew not to force him into anything he didn't want to do as he would only end up upset. 

If he needed anyone, he would take their company when he wanted it. 

Sleep didn't come easy. In fact, it didn't come at all. He sat in bed for hours tossing and turning before he realized the sun was rising, and he was too tired to pay it any mind. When the birds started chirping he made a call.

" _You've reached the front office of Highlands Medical Center, how may I assist you?_ " A voice on the other end spoke.

"I'm looking for someone, I think he could have possibly checked in."

" _What's the name, sir?"_

"Roger Taylor."

There was loud typing then the phone was picked up again. " _We don't have anyone by the name Roger Taylor."_

"What about Brian May, or Freddie Bulsara?"

Silence for a moment. Her voice was becoming irritated. " _May I ask what this is regarding?"_

Brian hesitated. "He's ill. He- uh, tried to kill himself. I'm worried he might hurt himself again. He uses an inhaler and he doesn't have it either."

" _Is this your son? A relative? Has he fled the home?"_

"He's my...Friend. He left yesterday, we had a fight." Brian stopped himself from continuing as to not give away unnecessary personal details. 

" _How old is Roger?"_

He almost didn't want to reply. He suspected if he gave an age over eighteen they wouldn't do anything to help him, and they might even call him foolish for trying. What was he supposed to do? Lie? If they found him and asked, " _Are you the sixteen year old?_ " He'd tell them to fuck off and kick Brian's ass for calling anyone to find him.

"Twenty-three."

A longer pause over the phone. " _I'm sorry if he's a legal adult-"_

"He could hurt himself, you don't understand." Brian stood from his bed and shoved a hand through the top of his hair. "He takes medications- uhm, for bipolar, depression, anxiety, and some pain killers for surgery. He could get an infection or worse."

" _Sir, there's nothing I can do unless he comes in himself."_

Brian gripped his phone until he was sure he would twist the metal. The hand in his hair was gripping painfully tight, and he screwed his eyes shut till he saw spots melt into his vision.

"You can't do _anything_?"

" _I'm sorry-"_

He hung up and threw his phone across the room with a loud bang then sat back down on his bed with a frustrated whine. This was his plan B, his escape route if Roger didn't come home soon. He was supposed to call the hospital and they would try and help find him. Sure, Roger would be pissed, but at least they would know he was alive and pissed.

Roger wouldn't even have to stay in the home if he chose not to, they would help him find an apartment if he wanted. He just wanted to know he was okay.

He felt anger welling up inside of him worse than he'd ever handled and he wasn't sure if it was from lack of sleep or general frustration but he couldn't help but yell. He shouted until he felt his voice give out and his knees connected to the floor when he was finished.

He heard his door open and he felt someone touching his back, attempting to get him to look at them, but he couldn't look up at whoever it was. He was too ashamed of himself. He should have been there for Roger, not imprisoned him. Now Roger hated him and would never come back.

He'd really fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments ad kudos are loved!!!


	14. Roger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger struggles to live on the streets again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little early update!!! Uwu  
> i hope yall enjoy this, i worked pretty hard on these next few chapters and soon im introducing a new character ;) be ready for that!  
> my tumblr is @Feedermercury and @groovynspoiled (i hardly use this one but you can dm this one)  
> i didn't wanna keep yall waiting to find out what happened to roger after he left and yes i purposely did brian's chapter first to keep yall on edge ;) i figured if this chapter is edited and done, ill just edit a little more to make it perfect and post it! its early compared to other updates, but i think this is a great amount of time to wait for a new chapter. its been like what, 3 days since i uploaded Brian? 3 days is a good wait since yall were SO ready to read this chapter!!  
> love u bitches <3

Waking up on a park bench wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. The unfamiliar feeling was being sober doing it.

Roger woke up around sunrise when he realized a stray cat was trying to take off with his hand. The cat was large and aggressive, so as soon as he opened his eyes he pulled his hand away and sat up from the bench with a start.

"Get the fuck out of here, cat," Roger said firmly. 

The cat stood its ground and he frowned. It was only when he clapped as hard as he could that the cat ran off and he was left alone again. He watched it scurry away as quickly as it could, but the way it moved so hastily made a grin spread across his face.

The bench he was laid on all night created an uncomfortable ache in the base of his spine and no matter how much he stretched, it persisted. 

The sun was still rising and the sky was hardly blue yet but he knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep based on how much his back was aching and how the cat could still be lurking in wait; just itching to give him a disease from its infected bite.

Roger got off of the bench and pulled his jacket close, bringing the strings tightly around his neck and clipping each metal button together to his throat. It wasn't specifically cold but he would rather be warm than risk getting chilly as he preferred the sympathy of the heat.

He wasn't sure where he was going to get it but he needed something to eat. He'd left the day before with only breakfast and he'd begun to get peckish around sunset, but he had no thought in his mind to stop and look for something inexpensive to eat. Roger took his backpack by the straps and opened the zipper with a hopeful curiousness; practically begging the sky he'd had money when he left.

Roger seemed to only have a bit of luck as he found a few pounds laying around in his bag. Only enough to buy a pack of smokes, but he figured he had enough for a few days and opted for getting a package of crisps when he came near a petrol station.

Sure, it wasn't a breakfast he could make like he could at Brian's house, but it was food and he was more than fine with that. He would rather eat crisps for breakfast than go through someone's fresh trash like he used to. It was called survival, and despite being taken care of for the past four months, he was still just as capable of surviving on the streets like he was before he jumped from the bridge.

Though, now there were new steps.

He would need to either find money to buy bandages or he'd have to steal them if he wanted to continue to change his wrap around his side. It had been healing well but ever since he was too rough during his time with Brian in the living room, he'd popped the (what he thought to be) healed side and now it drooled fluid every so often; which didn't feel nice when rubbed against the cotton of his shirts.

He'd never beg even at his most desperate. He'd either steal, pick-pocket, or earn his way to things. Roger didn't have much shame with things; he would get on his hands and knees and woof like a dog if you asked him to as long as it meant he'd get something he wanted equally as bad in return.

The only things he wouldn't do was risk his safety for things he knew could kill him. Even when he was at his lowest, planning on his suicide, he never allowed anyone to nearly kill him. He was saving it for himself to do and nothing was worth the risk, not even money or booze.

Now things changed. He wasn't planning on trying to kill himself again, despite knowing about fifty ways how just off of the top of his head, but he was back to square one.

The beginning of his day was spent endlessly walking until he wasn't sure where he was going and he soon found himself sitting surrounded by people in a cafe set in a busy city street. He knew by look he couldn't be far from Brian's house as he'd gone down this road when he was first brought back to his old home.

Roger could almost see himself and Brian in every car that passed by just as he and his friend looked the day after he came back from the hospital. Gaunt, sickly looking, and suffering. Brian had that look in his eyes like he was hopeful but doubtful of every move he made.

A small bag of crisps sat in front of him, unopened, and he found himself hesitant. His gaze was set on a payphone outside, and his cell phone that was slowly dying burned his pocket.

He knew each of their phone numbers by heart; Freddie, John, and Brian's. He could go outside or pull his phone out and call one of them right this moment and-

But he wouldn't. 

He wasn't going to move from his spot until he felt like moving, and at the moment he was content staring at his breakfast which he still hadn't opened.

Roger soon found the temptation of giving in too appealing, so he quickly left the cafe and continued down the street where he found himself idling between shops, an alleyway in the middle. He stood with his phone in his hand to think of his choices and after a bit of thinking, he threw it as far and hard as he could.

The glass screen shattered with a resounding crunch and he crossed his arms in satisfaction. 

"Good riddance," Roger said aloud with a bit of a smile on his face. 

Now that his phone was gone, he could focus. It didn't cause him anything but anxiety anyway.

Roger now sat in the alleyway and relaxed. It was clean for something so suspicious and it was away from the sun which allowed him to stay out of the heat if he needed. He had his coat and backpack, and he could use his coat as a blanket and his backpack as a pillow until he got enough money for a motel room if he needed. Again, survival. The thing he was best at- ironically.

When he sat down behind a large dumpster he almost wished he'd found out about the spot the night before instead of hurting his back on that park bench.

He spent the rest of the day alone in the alleyway. His crisps were eaten and thrown away, and his last six cigarettes were smoked impatiently. He made a warning to himself that he'd need to get more.

When it began to turn to nightfall, he knew drunk folks coming in and out of the bars and clubs would be easily deceived out of their pocket change, so when he began to hear slurred shouting in the streets he knew it would be a good time to try his hand in fate.

Roger pulled his jacket off and removed his shirt in the alley, then changed into a shirt he had in his bag which was more his size and therefore a bit form-fitting to his torso. He tried to tell himself this would be good, that he wasn't swapping shirts for sex appeal, but he wasn't sure.

As soon as he was finished, he stepped outside of the alley and tucked his hands into his jeans. People bustled through the city across from him and the lights from every shop were on, illuminating the area around him beautifully. He normally waited for people to come to him as he was more than aware of his prettiness, but he figured he could change his style and go to someone instead.

For time's sake and the fact he was getting hungry. He was fine with going to bed for dinner, but he would rather sleep comfortably without the cramps an empty stomach will give you.

He browsed his area for a moment before settling on a group of young men who looked plastered out of their minds. He figured if they were drunk enough to hardly be able to stand, they'd be drunk enough to give him anything he wanted. At this level of their intoxication, he was positive they'd just present him their wallets if he batted his eyes in the right way.

"Hello, boys," Roger spoke with a grin upon approaching. "I'm Roger."

This got the attention of one of the shortest boys in the group of three, and he seemed eager to touch his new friend's hands. He took both of Roger's hands and returned the smile.

"Hey," The young man said with a heavy slur and what sounded like a touch of a Scottish accent. "I'm John, what a lovely name."

Roger almost made a connection to his new friend and his old friend, but he stopped himself in favor of nodding along to what he could hardly understand. He allowed his hands to be taken and touched like they weren't his own.

"So, what are you doing out here on a night like this?" Roger leaned into the slim boy in front of him and pressed him against the wall behind them.

John seemed to enjoy it as he got a heavy-lidded look and he smiled. His friends near him were having their discussion and were probably too drunk to notice their friend being felt up by a stranger.

"Nuthin', n'less you're what I'm doin'."

The man in front of him leaned forward a bit and Roger almost gagged at the foulness of mixed drinks. He slid his hands down to the back of the boy's jeans and spread his fingers over the back pockets of his trousers. John wasn't skeptical of the blonde's actions at all, and he appeared to enjoy the touch.

"Well," Roger flirted, his hands picking a wad of crumpled pounds from his pocket. He wasn't sure how much he'd gotten, but he didn't have anything until it was in his pocket. The friends the young man he was groping were now looking at them which only added another layer of anxiety to his scheme. "How about you meet me...Midtown? We could get a drink."

Roger wasn't exactly sure where he was, but midtown seemed to resonate with John and he nodded in excitement. He put his hand on his hip and slid the pounds into his pocket. No one seemed to realize what he'd done and the boy in front of him had already walking where Roger assumed would be midtown. His friends followed close behind.

"See you then!" Roger shouted with a wave. They didn't turn around, but the sloppy gesture the shortest one returned was more than enough. "And thanks for being a bloody fool, John."

He waited until the men were out of sight and then pulled the bills from his pockets. He kept his hands by his waist to keep himself concealed and began to flick through the cash. All together he'd gotten about thirteen pounds which were enough for dinner. He needed to make sure he had enough for the following day, however, and decided since he was already up on his luck he'd go ahead and ask someone else for the time of day.

Roger needed to wait for the right time; a time where the crowd from earlier hadn't seen him with the other group and therefore wouldn't get weary of him.

He waited around twenty minutes of impatiently watching the crowd before someone, a much older gentleman, slowed down and eyed him up and down. Roger was against a wall and returned the look he'd just received with a smile painted to his face.

"How much?" The man asked. It was unclear if he was intoxicated, but he seemed to be wavering where he stood.

Roger faltered for a second but re-gathered himself. "Excuse me?"

The man leaned in and put a hand over his injured side which he winced a bit from. "You're not sitting here for fun," He looked to his hand and noticed how the blonde was attempting to snake away from the affection. "Something wrong with you, mate?"

"Not that it's your concern, but I hurt my side. I'm not a whore, by the way."

He seemed disappointed. The deep wrinkles forming on his brow only increased, but Roger wasn't sure if it was with anger or worry. "What happened?"

"Nothing. How about you buy me a drink to make me feel better?"

"I think I've had plenty, I'm goin' to my flat."

"Oh, come on." Roger leaned in and wrapped his arms around the man's neck. He seemed pleased for the moment but as soon as Roger figured it was a good time to get what he wanted from the conversation his hands went to the back of the older man's pockets but found nothing. With a bit of concerning disappointment, he pressed his front half against the front half of the man in front of him, just by his groin.

Now he could feel the solidness of his wallet in his pocket, and as they were deep they seemed to have other things inside as well.

"What's your name?" Roger asked, sliding his hands to the front. It would be too risky to strike now and he was even beginning to doubt being able to do anything without suspicion.

"What's yours?" 

Roger frowned. He didn't want to give his actual name as he'd not been granted one first but he knew he'd be just as suspicious if he didn't give a name. "Brian. My name's Brian."

"That's a nice name," The stranger smiled and placed a hand on waist. "I'm Edward."

It was clear it wasn't his real name, but he took it anyway just for simplicity's sake. Plus, his hands were getting closer to the prize. He'd be able to buy breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the next few days if he was lucky enough.

Roger was just about to be in the clear when he felt his wrist being grabbed and pulled back to his chest with a force that shot adrenaline into his veins. Edward looked around his surroundings and sighed at the people near them then rolled his eyes.

"You know, if you're gonna be a thief you should do it right." 

Roger made a move to get his wrist out of the man's grasp but he only grabbed more crushingly.

"Brian, if you're going to steal something, do it when you know you can." Edward nodded while he spoke. "A busy street corner works well, sure, but you have to know your audience."

He suddenly shifted his position and wrapped a far-too-tight arm around Roger's shoulders. His hand went to the blonde's cheeks and he wrapped his fingers around his jaw painfully.

Edward continued, pointing at a group of young women on the side of the street; "They would be a good target. See how they're hardly paying attention to who comes and goes? You could slide by them and take their purse and they'd never even know you just bloody sacked them." 

Roger wriggled uneasily. He was almost tempted to ask someone walking by the street for help, but he knew better than to make a scene when he wasn't even sure if the man holding him had any weapons. He only nodded wearily and looked to Edward tensely.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry. I won't trouble you again," Roger promised. "How about you let me alone and we can forget about this?" His voice was stifled from the way his cheeks were being forcefully sunken in and he continued to wriggle from the tightening grasp.

"In a minute, Brian." Edward's grip on his shoulders stiffened impossibly harsh, and Roger was being moved before he understood what was happening to him. He was led into the same alleyway he had been in for the day but now the comfort of the area was running dry and soon replaced with fear and anxiety.

"I'm so sorry," Roger said desperately when he was shoved against a wall by the collar of his shirt. His uneasy breathing turned into difficult wheezes when he attempted to catch his breath. His lungs in his chest felt like they were shrinking rapidly, and he knew he was going to have an asthma attack on top of a panic attack if he wasn't careful. 

"I have asthma," Roger continued. The remaining breath he had was knocked from his lungs when he was pushed from and back into the wall with a powerful shove. The air completely cut off now, and he attempted to suck in air like a fish out of water without mercy. "I-I can't breathe, please, I'm  _sorry._ "

"Sure, everyone has asthma." Edward rolled his eyes.

Roger couldn't do much anymore besides focus on his breathing, which was becoming heavy coughs and stay conscious. He knew if he fell unconscious from the lack of air coming in he wouldn't be waking up. The man holding him up against the wall must have known he wasn't faking, but he continued despite the way he toed the line of coughing out his lungs.

He recoiled when a fist was raised in front of his face but unlike other false alarms, the hand came down and joined to his cheekbone.

It was the shock that hit him mentally first, then it was the urge to fight back despite the lack of air.

Roger was boosted from his feet a few inches off of the ground and he attempted to kick his feet up to get the man holding him to fall back, but he wasn't able to get very far before he was being punched in the face again, and again, and then one more time. As soon as the last punch was cast he was dropped to the ground where his feet hit the concrete before he slumped to the side. Violent, breathless coughing mixed with blood and saliva made his lack of air worse, and he found himself beginning to see black spots that swirled into nothingness.

He could feel warm liquid pouring from his nose and the rest of his face felt red hot. He brought a hand to his cheek and he felt warmth meet his fingertips, and by the feeling of the skin, it was beginning to swell.

"Have a good night, Brian," Edward said with a smile and a salute. Roger glanced up at him and he could see blood on his knuckles that he was working to wipe off. He couldn't tell if it was his blood or Edward's.

Roger didn't respond as he walked away; he couldn't have even if he wanted to. Blood dripped down his shirt and onto the concrete below him that was beginning to strain against the beige color. He moved himself to his back and groaned in pain upon the movement. 

" _Fuck_ ," He whined to himself. His voice was muffled again, but not from his cheeks being pushed. His lip was swollen and split down the side and when he licked it, a shockwave of painful stinging went through his face.

It would be out of the cards now, Roger thought, to go home. Even if he knew where he was he wouldn't be able to. Brian would throw a fit if he saw what he looked like, and the humiliation of telling him how he got to look like this would be far too much on top of everything else.

Roger knew he was getting too high on his horse when he decided thirteen pounds wasn't enough, but he got greedy. Either that or desperate. They were beginning to feel like the same thing.

He was even embarrassed about thinking about going back.

Now he was alone and in so much pain he could hardly see straight. Roger sat himself up and dragged himself to where his backpack was, covering himself from the rest of the passer-by's on the street. He took the shirt he was wearing before from the sack and pressed it against his face with a relieved sigh when it was cool in the heat of his cheek.

Roger sat in the alleyway simply calming down and relieving some of the pressure on his cheek for the rest of the night. The crowd of partying strangers died down into small crowds of people simply talking and walking home. As soon as the sun was up, he sat with his back to a shop's wall and watched the people go by, some of them staring his way without more than a glance.

Even with the crowd roaming around him, he felt isolated on the side of the street.

 

* * *

It took him only two days to run out of money. Twenty-four pounds wasn't too much money, and he easily burned through it on making sure he didn't go to bed hungry. He kicked himself for the entire week after when he realized his pocket change was depleting fast and he'd most likely have to resort to stealing again, this time with more luck hopefully. He wasn't sure he could take another beating. Ever since the first one, his breathing had been agony and he could hardly get a good breath in without wheezing; it was like nails had plunged into his system.

His face was still bruised, his lip cut and continuing to open when he spoke or moved his mouth, and his cheeks sore when he touched his face or laid down. He was worried about infection so he had no choice but to buy alcohol wipes for cut running across his cheek, doubling as help for his side.

Roger hadn't had a smoke in days and by the first week, it was beginning to get to him.

For the first three days after he ran out of money and cigarettes, he began to get debilitating headaches. Not to mention stomach cramps on top of it that secured his worry that he wouldn't be able to do much of anything until they went away.

Despite his efforts, no one in a large city wanted to give a twenty-three-year-old, who could hardly stand from his headaches and busted face, a spare smoke. That meant he was either going to have to deal with constant nausea and withdrawal or steal his way to feeling better, and based on the fact that he couldn't move it didn't seem likely he'd be getting his way.

By the middle of the second week, he was too ill to walk.

Roger was sure he wouldn't be able to hold anything down if he was able to buy anything, but the water he was able to drink from public water-fountains wasn't held down for very long until he threw it back up again.

Now he was in the same spot he'd been in for days; the alleyway with his backpack under his head and his coat over his shoulders. His body was curled up into a ball and he clenched his teeth painfully with each cramp that wracked his body. He wanted his inhaler, breathing was getting hard and he knew it wasn't just from his withdrawals.

Roger repeatedly gripped his jeans when each ache appeared but nothing seemed to help, especially since he'd not been able to stop thinking about how much he'd stab someone for a fag. And something to eat. And a bed. He would commit a felony for just about anything right now, anything besides this.

Roger thought over the possibility of what would play out if he went ahead and did the crimes he was thinking of in his head. He could rob a bank for five pounds, stick someone up with his hands in his coat to pretend he had a gun and demand a cigarette, all sorts of fun things went through his mind and for a moment it made him laugh even through the pain.

He looked down to the ending of the alleyway he faced and stared at the fragmented pieces of his phone he'd shattered nearly three weeks ago. The glass circled the case and he pouted. Maybe if he could call someone- anyone they could help him. He could get something to eat and maybe beg someone to let him sleep on their couch until he could get well enough to leave.

But he couldn't now, and he couldn't let himself get down about his phone when he already was dealing with everything else. It was done, just like what he said to his best friend. He was refusing to allow himself to think about the fact he told Brian he hated him and never wanted to see him again. If he did, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle it.

In the heat of the moment, he was sure he meant it. He hated Brian and he showed it by breaking his nose, then adding insult to injury he said what he did and even added onto it. Now, balled up in an alleyway trying not to barf his guts out, he wasn't too sure what he thought. 

All he knew was he was pissed off, starving, and dying for a smoke.

Roger sat up as well as he could, an arm protectively pressed over his stomach, and pressed himself against the wall of the alley with a pained sigh. He was covered in sweat but he was shaking badly and it only worsened when he brought himself to his feet.

It felt like standing itself was the most exhausting task he'd ever gone through. As soon as he was upward, he felt nausea he was suppressing attempt to make itself known without success as he hadn't had anything the entire day. Walking was nearly impossible and he had to grasp the wall for support.

Once he was out of the alley he felt eyes on him from every direction. He knew exactly how he looked; like someone who had been sleeping next to a dumpster and was going through withdrawals. His unwashed and tangled hair only adding onto the look along with his filthy clothes that smelled like the alleyway.

Roger grinned as well as he could for anyone who's stare lingered and if he wasn't so ill, he would have found humor in the way he stumbled down the street with a wide smile on his face, almost looking like he was drunk.

Maybe it was instability or being desperate, perhaps both, but he needed to find a phone.

He needed to call someone, anyone, for help. He felt pathetic even thinking of needing help when he survived much longer without a single aid to his multiple addictions, but now he was down to one and he could hardly function. Sure, it had been a while, but he was frightened like a child, and now he had to admit it was either accept it or suffer alone for longer than he could handle.

It was one of the most unusual feelings he'd ever had, self-preservation was most likely what you'd call it. He thought at first maybe it was just because he didn't want to die anymore, that he'd learned better, but now he was realizing he just didn't want to suffer if he was ill enough. Perhaps selfish, but he couldn't handle it anymore. His sister died in agony, alone, and terrified. He couldn't follow that. Even when he walked to that bridge he felt an eerie calm over him, and despite being alone, he felt at peace.

Now he was terrified and truly alone.

Roger wasn't suicidal, but he wouldn't care if he was beaten to death in that alley two weeks ago. He's been taking care of himself, trying to keep himself alive, but he really wouldn't cry if he was on the verge of passing, he thinks. He just would hate to die scared.

Roger went around the block until he found a phone booth. It was quite small, and there wasn't a door on the front, but the phone inside had keys that lit up red which let him know the device worked despite being old-fashioned. As soon as he saw it he ran inside as quickly as he could and took the phone desperately like it was a lifeline.

With the last few coins in his pocket, Roger's fingers punched in the number quicker than he knew who he was calling, but as soon as he pressed the crimson phone against his ear he felt his body strain into the phone booth's plastic walls.

" _Hello?_ " A voice inquired, irritation in his voice strong, from the other end of the line. 

"Freddie," Roger whined into the line. His voice was small and unused, resulting in it being harsh. "I need help."

" _I have- my dear, I have no idea who you are or what you're saying. Please speak up._ "

Roger felt tears biting his eyes and throat and his hands felt stiff, freezing even. "I need _help,_ Freddie." He spoke only a little louder than before but he knew he was heard when he heard the phone shuffle from the other end.

" _Roger? Where are you-"_

"Keep your voice down. I don't want anyone hearing you."

Freddie hesitated. " _Okay, where are you?"_

The blonde rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath. He made himself remember how he needed this, he needed his friend's support. _You will die alone and you will die sick._

"It doesn't matter where I am, does it?" Roger snapped. He pressed the plastic front of the phone against his forehead and tapped it lightly before returning it to his ear. "Sorry. I'm ill. I need help."

" _You're ill? What's happened? Do we need to call someone?"_

"I'm fine, I just need something. I need my inhaler-"

" _Did you have an attack?"_

"No- Well, yes. Freddie, let me speak." Roger snapped again, this time less forceful and now verging on desperation. "I need my inhaler, and I want a fucking smoke." He laughed breathlessly but found no amusement in his situation.

" _You don't have any?"_

"None, ran out a while ago. It's been fucking killing me, Fred. I'm starved."

He felt like he was only using the older man on the other end of the phone to rant now, but getting it out of his system felt wonderful.

" _Well no wonder it's killing you, you're going through bloody withdrawal_.  _My goodness. Maybe it's time you came home, Roger."_

He shook his head despite knowing he wouldn't be visible. "No. No, Freddie. Can we just...Meet somewhere and you can give me my inhaler? You won't have to tell anyone."

Freddie sighed into the phone and paused for longer than Roger's liking, beginning to get desperate.

"Freddie, please!" He begged. "I'm really unwell, I can't stand here for much longer and I've run out of pence." 

It was genuine, he'd used the last of his coins and he was beginning to feel light-headed on his feet from nausea and dizziness.

" _Okay, of course, I'll help,"_ Freddie replied after far too long. " _Where would you prefer to meet?"_

Roger thought back to the coffee shop not too far from him. It was public, so if Freddie decided to force him to come back he could easily make a scene and get out. He had a feeling he'd do exactly that upon seeing him and how he was looking these days, but he wouldn't allow it.

"There's a, uhm, coffee shop. I don't know what it's called but it's not too far, I'm sure you could find it."

" _I know it, don't worry. I can bring you your inhaler and some smokes today if you'd like."_

Roger sensed a sigh of relief drive through him, and he smiled weakly. "Please."

Freddie began to say something but Roger hung up the phone before he could get it out.

His body crumbled to the bottom of the phone booth and he whimpered quietly with a hand tucked to his side. He could feel his stomach seizing with cramps but he couldn't think of how much pain he was in at the moment, only that he was suddenly so drained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are VERY appreciated!!! i hope yall enjoyed this chapter! UWU


	15. Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger meets Freddie at the coffee shop. Roger goes to an old friends home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos welcome <3

It took every bit of Roger's energy to force himself to the coffee shop.

By the time he made it, he was on the edge of another asthma attack on top of everything else which resulted in a stressful mess of sweat and stomach cramps. He was sure the shop only let him come inside because they felt bad for him. Otherwise, they'd be insane to let someone who looked like him come inside of their fine establishment.

The air conditioning took care of his sweats but didn't do much good for his unrelenting coughing and wheezing. He didn't want to look weak in front of Freddie, knowing full and well he might tell Brian what he went to do no matter how much he asked him not to, but he didn't seem to have a choice in the matter given how his body was responding to the withdrawal.

A glass of water was brought to the booth he was sitting in, but he couldn't thank or refuse the glass before the waitress was strolling away. Roger knew not to waste a perfect opportunity, so he took the water and downed it until he reached the bottom of the glass. He felt a smile sweep across his face and he pressed his forehead against the table, his breathing turning from short pants into long, drawn-out inhales and exhales that helped oxygen run through his lungs.

Roger wasn't sure how long he rested at the booth tapping his fingers against the wooden table pressing against his head. It felt great to have the cool air conditioning run through his clothes and sooth the heat radiating off of him, even the bruises and cuts remaining on his face and cheeks were comforted by the cooler weather of the shop.

He felt a steady hand reach and glide across his back. At first, he allowed the touch without questions, feeling its compassion go through him and cause goose-bumps to erupt on his arms and the back of his neck. It was only when he realized he wasn't aware who was touching him that he jerked away from the touch and looked up in a panic.

"Rog," Freddie winced with a deeply concerned expression. "You look absolutely dreadful."

Roger nodded and gestured around himself. "I told you I'm ill. I don't know what you expected."

His friend sat in front of him and seemed anxious himself.

"I've brought your inhaler and some smokes," Freddie slid both items over and Roger took them as tenderly as he could despite being desperate. Freddie almost made a joke about how the two should contradict one another, but upon seeing Roger's reaction to the items, he waved the thought away. "I absolutely think we should discuss coming home."

Roger appreciated having his friend with him now, but he couldn't help but notice that he was looking over the booth far too often for his own comfort.

"Why are you looking behind me?" Roger asked with annoyance. The carton of cigarettes was slowly being crumbled in his fingers from his closing fist. He had a feeling he knew the answer, but he didn't want to face the music and turn around himself.

"I couldn't drive myself, Roger." Freddie appeared guilty. "I hope you understand. They're not here, they're in the car."

"So you came here to guilt me into coming back?"

Freddie genuinely looked troubled at his assumption. "Absolutely not. I came here to help you. But, Roger, I must say I think we should think about our lodging situation."

"We don't have a lodging situation. I don't live with you."

He pouted dramatically. "You look frightful, love. Where have you been sleeping?"

"Doesn't matter where I've been sleeping. I won't be here much longer."

Freddie leaned forward and took one of his hands, his concerned expression somehow deepening. "Roger, we love you-"

Roger flicked his hand back and leaned into the booth. "Christ, Freddie. I'm not gonna hang myself. I'm not gonna be in the city much longer."

"Where will you go?"

"Why? So you can tell Brian?"

A silence fell over them and Roger stood wearily with his hands shoving into the pockets of his coffee-colored coat. 

"Wait, Roger," Freddie stood as well and took the blonde by the wrist which he tensed at. "I'll get you something to eat. You said you were starved, I know better than anyone that withdrawal makes you mad with cravings." He smiled but Roger only shrugged his grip off with a pout.

"Fine, but I'm leaving after."

Despite his want and need to leave the shop, the smells of the coffee shop's baked goods were beginning to get to him and caused his stomach to cramp in longing and discomfort. He also wasn't about to pass up a good opportunity to eat even if he knew it might not stay down.

Freddie ordered him a cup of tomato soup, and when it came he took it in both of his hands and drank the liquid from the bowl like it was the first meal he'd ever had. He didn't particularly care that his stomach began to ache when he was finished or the fact that he'd gotten red juice down his chin, then to his shirt. He was just happy to have something in his stomach at the moment, even if he felt the creeping warning signs of nausea attempting to set in.

"Wow, you weren't kidding. How long's it been since you had a proper meal?" Said Freddie with a concerned look.

Roger had to think about it which wasn't the best sign. While he thought, he began to eat through the crackers that came with his soup with as much enthusiasm as he did just moments before.  "Dunno."

The oldest eyes were wide but he didn't comment, worried he would become aggravated again when he'd just gotten him in a good mood. "Well how about we slow down before you choke, hm?"

Roger smiled apologetically and ran a wrist across his mouth to collect the crumbs from his cheeks. He breathed in satisfaction and tucked his hands between his thighs comfortably. Freddie seemed pleased with himself as well and gave a loving smile.

"So, really, where are you sleeping? You've mentioned the shortage of funds, but you must be sleeping."

"Alleyway," Roger admitted without a second thought while he shoveled another cracker into his mouth.

"An...Alleyway?"

Roger nodded. "It's not bad, Fred. Really, It's nice."

"You're sure this is simply withdrawals? You could be getting a cold. Maybe we should go to the hospital-"

"No, Freddie. I said I'm leaving after this."

Freddie leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I'm just looking out for you, dear."

"I don't need looking out for," He sighed through a mouthful of crumbs. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

Freddie raised a brow and Roger looked his way, returning the expression. "Tell me how you got those bruises. It looks like someone used you as a punching bag, and I'm not foolish. I understand something happened."

Roger felt like he could trust Freddie, but he wasn't sure how much he would go off and tell Brian about. He knew if he told him, " _I tried to rob someone and he beat the shit out of me while I had an asthma attack"_ he would be carted off and tied up in bubble wrap.

"I got in a fight. No big deal, happens all the time." He shoved a handful of crackers into his mouth and stared up at Freddie who was giving him a deeply concerned look.

"Where will you go after this? I don't think it's safe here. Maybe we could drive you somewhere." He waited for Roger to respond but he didn't. He only continued to chew and stare out the window calmly. "Maybe we could get you a hotel?"

Roger was growing tired of Freddie's attempts to seduce him into coming with him. He ran his hand over his mouth once again to collect the crumbs before sitting back in the booths leather seat. He understood he was only trying to help, but it was getting frustrating.

"I think I wanna go." Roger sat up from the corner and pulled his jacket closed. "Thank you for the soup, I really appreciate it."

Freddie stood as well and pulled him into a hug. He almost pulled away, but he could feel his friend's heartbeat against his and it was picking up speed.

"Please, Roger. I need to know you're somewhere safe. Just come home for a few days-"

"Thank you for the soup, Freddie," Roger spoke in a rush, pulling out of his embrace hastily.

He turned on his heel and began to walk away but Freddie took him by the wrist which caused him to attempt to drag his hand away in a knee-jerk reaction, but the grasp was tighter than he'd thought.

"Don't touch me, okay? I said goodbye, now let me go. Don't make this hard."

"Roger, you must say something to Brian. He hasn't come out of his room besides to go to work and I don't think he's sleeping. It's been weeks, he believed you were dead and he thinks it's his fault."

Roger removed his jacket which forced Freddie's hand off of him, leaving him with his coat instead. "I'm not gonna be seduced into apologizing. We aren't bloody children, Freddie. Did you only come to beg me to apologize?"

Freddie folded the jacket between his arms and began to speak, but Roger continued; "I thought you were my friend. Next time cut to the chase and tell me what you actually want first instead of making me think you cared."

He stepped towards the entrance of the shop and moved out onto the sidewalk, gulping back tears all the while.

He couldn't understand why Freddie would treat him so politely only to show he didn't truly care for him. He wanted to trust him, but now he regrets ever calling him in the first place. Everything was always about Brian, and he didn't seem to truly care that he was miserable himself.

"Roger, wait!" Freddie called after him. When the blonde turned around, he saw Brian and John standing by him staring at him like he was a ghost come back to life.

Brian's expression was disturbing. He looked exhausted, his cheeks and under eyes covered in bruises along with his nose that had a bandage covering the bridge. Despite the coverage, Roger could see the way it twisted in the middle which confirmed he'd broken his nose more severely than he'd thought. Brian was also slanted physically, tilting a bit to the left away from his friends. If he was drunk he concealed it well, but knowing Freddie and John they probably kept him away from the booze; they knew just as anyone how dependant on harmful things Brian got when he was in an episode, and this one seemed to be the worst yet.

John simply looked terrified. His entire demeanor was defensive and he was clearly beginning to tear up based on how his nose and cheeks began to brighten red from simply seeing Roger in the flesh, very much not dead.

"What the fuck do you want, Freddie?" Roger shouted back before forcing himself to peel his gaze away from the other two men standing by him. 

"You forgot your jacket!"

Roger wasn't daft, he knew if he took it he would be pushed into a conversation with all three of them. Call it paranoia, but he wasn't about to be pressured into anything he didn't want. He pulled the cigarettes from his pocket and tucked one into his mouth, his body practically purring from the very touch of one, and lit it with a grin.

"Keep it, I don't care." He spun back around and disregarded the way he heard his name called over and over. His only concern was the cigarette hanging from his mouth and how incredible he felt after weeks without one.

Roger was tired of waiting. If he was going to leave, he was going to do it now. No more uncertainty, he was sure what he wanted.

 

* * *

Roger knew what he was doing was wrong but he also knew he needed it more than the woman he was pickpocketing did.

Her purse had her name sutured into it, and her fur coat modeled off of her shoulders effortlessly. She had her hair tucked into a curly bun and she pressed her legs to close together while looking around the train station surrounding her; utterly blind to the fact her purse was becoming slimmer by the second.

Roger felt utterly indifferent when he stood in front of her, his pocket stuffed with her money she most likely didn't work for and praised her fur coat. She smiled and stroked the fox fur lining her forearms, telling him it was real fur which she thought to be lovely but he found offensive. Of course, he didn't tell her this, he needed the illusion to be kept up, but he did nod along and part ways with her while feeling adrenaline charge through his veins.

He needed this and she wouldn't miss it. She most likely wouldn't even notice in all honesty.

Roger now sat on a train, head pressed against a glass pane and decided not to think about how he was becoming worried about the fact he was getting distant from what he'd previously considered home. He saw lights pass him and people walk the isles, and he wondered if they knew where he was going. 

Did he remember where he was going? Of course, he did.

Did he want to be on the train? He was still deciding.

The part of the train he was on allowed smoking, but he was alone in the hall. Not a sound, sight, or anything of the sorts near him. He could almost feel the people near him, however, at every stop. Strangers stared at him at every stop and he would stare back. He could almost feel the way their eyes invaded him, trying to find out things about him even Roger didn't know. 

The first stop a little girl waved at him and he waved back, a cigarette tucked between his lips that he quickly took out and ducked behind his back to keep her from seeing the adult habit. She continued to wave so he grinned and pressed his nose against the glass windowpane and leaned down to make it look entertaining. She loved it and replicated what he was doing by putting her index finger against the tip of her nose and pulling up.

She and Roger continued to communicate without words, just using their hands to pull the weirdest faces they could until he noticed the girl's mother was beginning to tug on her melancholy winter coat. He wanted to apologize, say something to the mother who was clearly uncomfortable with him, but the train was moving again and the young girl was waving goodbye to him.

Roger observed her disappear behind winding concrete tubes until she was completely out of sight. The moody blue coat on the little one's shoulders and the similar saucy red over the mother's now a memory. To him, that part of his world could no longer exist at all. Picture it, someone built the spot you're standing in right now. Just for you. It sounds nice at first, Roger thought, but the more you think of it the lonelier it becomes.

The moon, sun, stars, the bloody pavement you walk on. All made for you. Who could have made it? He doesn't have the answer to that, all he knows is that would be a shitty reality. Sure, it was all meant for you, but that would mean you were just as alone in the world as you'd feared your entire life. Perhaps, Roger thought, that's why Brian chose to believe in a higher power. His reasoning for the sun rising was a God who willed it to, but what did Roger have? What was his faith? Was it God, willing him to continue, or was he alone? 

The thought of religion was a sensitive topic for Roger personally. He was raised in an aggressively religious household and therefore the abuse his parents inflicted on him and his sister was a product of God's will, not the alcoholism and drug addiction of both parents. He used to wonder what God would do such a thing to such an innocent child, especially his sister, but as he got older the idea of God seemed to be more laughable than anything. Brian believed in God to help, and Roger didn't because he never got help. 

Though, as he stood on the train, he wondered if God, real or imaginary, was looking down at him at the moment.

The tracks of the train he passed by vanished as the train moved. The city supposedly above him doesn't exist either. Nor do the tubes. If Roger can't see it, it doesn't exist. Using his logic this means Brian, John, and Freddie don't exist at the moment either. 

Roger deflated against the train's chairs with a smoke between his teeth, biting down lightly in thought.

Brian didn't exist right now which meant he didn't have to worry about him. But if Brian didn't exist, then why was there guilt gnawing at his bones; chewing the flesh until there was nothing but shame and regret remaining on his figure?

He felt like a dream when he realized it was his stop.

The fragrance of ocean water and cigarette butts pushed its way past his nose and he winced from the familiarity of it all; worse than returning back to his home from so many years ago. This, unlike the home, had no positive memories. This was the place you went to die alone and there Roger was, his legs forcing him to walk off of the train and to the city above him that didn't exist moments before.

The first thing he saw was a photo of a bridge. Familiarity was a disease and it was terminal but he couldn't help but find his way to the photo, settling his index finger on the very spot he stood before and slowly dove down into the water, but this time he didn't hit a boat. The photo smelled like plastic and copper despite only being paper with a plastic plate over it and when he pulled his hand back, the pad of his finger smelled like the plastic.

Someone hitting his shoulder with their own brought him back to reality and he quickly apologized despite it not being his blame.

He was surrounded by strangers which comforted him despite his social anxiety. In the crowd, he found his way to a long stretch of road where the street lights didn't touch the sidewalk, hiding him from any eyes who might try to find things out about him even he didn't know.

Roger's body worked on autopilot. His subconscious knew where he was going, but his body didn't see where he was going only that he was, in fact, going.

Out of the corner of his eye for a brief instant, he saw the bridge. It would have taken ten minutes of walking to go over, but his mind went black during that period and before he knew it he was standing in front of a wooden door with the number  _866_ in front of it. 

Roger wasn't sure how long he'd walked, but the way he had a different Marlboro in his mouth that had recently been lit told him it had been enough time. Perhaps his mind spaced to protect him, but he wasn't sure.

There were sounds coming from inside of the apartment and he found himself now hesitating after his blank memory. However, he was already there, and he knocked on the door heavily. He didn't cease knocking until he realized his hand was shaking from tears running down his cheeks and to his neck.

The entrance opened just as he covered his face with his hands to wipe the tears away, but he froze in the position he was in.

"Uhm, can I help you?"

Roger slowly turned his open palms to fists and lowered them to his waist where he gazed up to join the woman's disoriented stare. As soon as they matched expressions, she leaned forward a little and put her hand on his cheek with a smile tugging on her lips.

"Roger?" She asked.

"Yeah, Peach."

Peach practically leaped out of her pajamas and into his arms, pushing him down before he could catch his footing. He screeched in shock and dropped to the carpeted hallway floor with his friend in his arms where she showed her excitement by pulling him back up by the collar of his shirt.

"Oh, you're so thin!" She shouted while grabbing his waist despite the way he leaned backward. "And you look and  _smell_ awful."

Roger rolled his eyes when he was practically shoved back into a crushing hug. Her skin was warm and her exposed navel pressed against his lower stomach. He could see down her panties from the back when he gazed down, but he didn't stare for long before he cut his eyes away.

"Peach- I haven't seen you in years-" 

"I missed you so much." 

Roger grinned and she returned the smile before striking him in the arm over and over until she reached his head. He put his arms over his head to protect himself but she continued without a care in the world.

"Tosser! You can't just disappear for years just to show up looking like... _This_!" Peach pointed to his entire body and he frowned in guilt.

"I know, I'm sorry. I deserve that."

They stood in silence for just a moment before she reached up to take his cheek again, the tears from just before beginning to come back.

"I'm really sorry, I should go, right?" Roger asked softly, hardly making a noise.

Peach furrowed her brow and pouted. "No, you're here. You owe me an explanation of where you've been."

He nodded and she took him by the hand, bringing him into the apartment. It smelled the same that it did years ago and the coat she took to cover her mostly naked body was one he recognized; it felt like he time-traveled to when he was twenty-one again.

Roger had hardly any time to react before he was being guided to the couch across the room and pushed down into it, a throw pillow then being placed into his lap.

"What are you-"

"Getting you nice and relaxed. Are you hungry?"

Roger felt like he could devour everything in her apartment right now. Nausea from his withdrawal had somewhat released, but the cravings hadn't quite subsided. 

"God," He tossed his head back into the sofa and clutched the pillow to his chest. "I'm starving."

Peach smiled and padded into her kitchen with her hands tapping on the sides of her thighs. Roger watched her card through her fridge and he wondered why she was being so sweet to him seemingly without reason.

Sure, they were friends, but he hadn't seen her in years. Not since she'd dropped him off at rehab, did she even know he left? Could he even consider himself her friend? He wouldn't be a good one if they were. No friend would leave so suddenly, this time for little to no reason besides humiliation.

"You're staring, Rog," Peach commented with a glance over her shoulder. 

"Sorry, didn't mean to."

”Penny for your thoughts?”

Roger found hesitation, a known friend of his, on the tip of his tongue like a fine salt. He wasn’t really sure what he was thinking of at the moment, just irrational things as always. And that he was hungry and whatever she was making smelled good.

”I don’t really know.” Roger replied after silence far too long for both of their likings.

Peach made a noise of agreement in the back of her throat. She didn’t want to force answers he didn’t have out of him, and even if he did have answers she didn’t need to have them if he wasn’t willing to share.

“I hope you don’t mind- I just have leftovers. Roast and mashed potatoes sound okay?”

Roger smiled to himself. “That sounds perfect.” 

And it looked just as perfect. Peach heated it up on the stove for him, something he took notice of when she had a microwave that would have done just as well of a job. It was a small thing, tiny in the grand scheme, but it took extra time to do and he appreciated it.

While he ate she watched him with a curious look in her eyes he first failed to notice. When the juice of the roast began to drip down his chin, he noticed. 

“Sorry,” Roger said and used his sleeve as a napkin. “S’just really good is all.”

”No need to apologize,” Peach grinned and he felt his arms warm up. “But, if I may ask, what happened?” She gestured to her face and Roger suddenly became aware of how bruised and pathetic he must look. 

"Fight. It wasn't anything-"

"Did you win?"

Roger surely wasn't expecting that. He grinned and nodded despite it being glaringly obvious he did not win in any meaning of the word. "Sure I did, you know me."

Peach returned the smile being given to her and settled herself on the couch next to Roger where he continued to eat in quietness beside the notes of him lapping up the broth. She was observing him like he was a foreign object and he wasn't sure if it was a good observation or a bad one. She had that look on her face, one he was too familiar with from his time back with Brian, and it was a bit unnerving.

"Now _you're_ staring," Roger warned her.

"Mhm, I am."

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Peach smiled and positioned her body towards his own. "What happened to you?"

The question was posed lightly but that was quite a story indeed. She hadn't seen him since he supposedly went to rehab, and now he's showing back up looking like he got hit by a train.

Roger set his bowl down and ran his wrists over his mouth a couple of times to stall. “I jumped off a bridge.”

”Like...With a bungee cord?”

”No.”

”Wow,” She sat up and crossed her arms. “So how’d that go?”

Roger grinned and raised his brows, shaking his head with a weak laugh. “It didn’t go as planned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger went to rehab but didnt stay...Sound familiar? Like perhaps something roger mentioned not too long ago? He never said a name but...  
> also for clarity sake- Peach is a real person. In real life Brian went (with queen) to new orleans and found a prostitute (i think she was) named Peaches and he apparently fell in love the first moment he saw her. In this, obviously, she isnt a prostitute. i hope yall enjoyed this uwu <33  
> ((ALSO: PEACHES LAST NAME IS MADE UP. SHE IS NOW IN THE CHARACTER LIST, BUT I HAD NO IDEA WHAT HER IRL LAST NAME WAS SO DEAL WITH IT)


	16. Dazed And Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian is dealing with too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this took a while huh? I went through a lot of ideas ofr this chapter before finalizing this. I believe its quite good so I hope yall enjoy this, I really tried on it and i hope my hard work was worth it. I was really going through a hard time and im finding it hard not to apologize for taking so fucking long but i cant apologize because i really need the break. i wasnt planning on finishing the chapter and posting it today but i had a 5 hour trip to atlanta georgia yesterday and im in a hotel right now in atlanta as i type this (when i upload this i wont be. i’ll probably be eating or in a record store we’re going to) i also find apologizing for something like that makes it seem like writing this is a chore and it isn’t because i love writing this. the point is i’m here and i’m writing :) i got sad but i’m good enough to write again, i think my sadness is portrayed in this chapter in a reflection but honestly what chapter doesn’t have that? i have a great few ideas for the next chapters with things i’ve never seen anyone do in queen fanfic (unless i haven’t read it?) and this is really where the story begins to pick up and become more about healing. no spoilers! enjoy guys :) -charlie

The smell of coffee, bacon, and eggs woke Roger up. It was a welcomed event, and he rose from the couch as soon as he began to smell the pleasing breakfast being prepared.

He pictured waking confused, scared, and upset the night before but the smell of clean fluffy sheets and breakfast being cooked comforted him into relaxation.

"Morning, Rog," Peach grinned from the kitchen. His vision was a bit hazy, but he turned to see her dressed, out of her sleepwear and now in a full outfit for the day.

"You going somewhere?" Roger asked weakly. His voice was strained with sleep and he stretched out on the sofa comfortably. It was better than the alleyway he'd been resting in lately.

"I have a job, Rog. I work in a clinic, remember?"

Roger nodded and examined the room around him. It looked better in the daylight and he was beginning to feel at peace. He wasn't sure what it was about Peache's house but perhaps it was the fact he'd only ever had, mostly, positive memories in the room he was surrounded in now.

"You're gonna be okay if I leave for a few hours right?" Peach asked and pat a place on an island in her kitchen for Roger to sit at. He didn't hesitate and sat where he was directed where his breakfast was sat in front of him.

"Of course I'll be. I'll be fine, Peach." Roger replied defensively with an edge that Peach raised a brow at.

"Okay, I was just wondering. Jeez, Rog. Not a morning person huh?" She smiled a little and gave Roger a fork to which he began to slowly eat his breakfast as politely as he could manage.

"Sorry," He apologized through a mouthful of eggs. "I'll be fine. I promise."

She seemed suspicious of his choice of words and where they originated from, but she didn't want to push him into a conversation he didn't want to have. If anyone knew Roger it was her and she knew not to over-step; he could either turn into a sobbing mess or go into shouting and yelling and neither seemed appealing.

Peach rounded the table and grabbed onto Roger's head, pulling it back a bit where she pressed kisses all over his face and head while he squirmed.

"Peach- What are you doing?" He laughed while trying to push her away.

"I'm going to work, and you're gonna take a shower." She gave him one last kiss and pat his cheeks. "Then you're gonna sit on my couch and rest. Right?"

"Right."

"Good boy."

Roger watched her collect her purse and coat, giving him a wink while she went out the door. As soon as she was gone, he smiled and ate his breakfast. Someone was trusting him with being alone, and she hadn't even put the knives away; in fact, they were right in front of him. Roger picked the biggest one up and held it in front of him with the smile remaining on his face.

"I'll be fine." He repeated to himself freely before he put the knife down. He was fine, the knife was held then put down and he was still alive. It felt freeing to be trusted.

Roger took his breakfast and moved to the sofa, pulling his blankets over himself, and then turned on Peach's TV. All the while he had a smile on his face. 

 

* * *

 

It was nearing seven in the morning, and Brian was still resting on the sofa. He wasn't asleep, and everyone in the room was aware of the fact that he wasn't but decided to pretend that he was so he would be left alone. He hadn't slept that night so he came downstairs to possibly catch a few episodes of a television show to get him tired. It hadn't worked, so now he laid across the sofa with his eyes heavy and drooping with exhaustion and troublesome emotion.

The television was still on but he wasn't really paying attention, his gaze instead set on the window that Freddie had opened in hopes to get him some sun.

It was far too bright outside for his enjoyment and it showed in the living room, the sunlight glaring in his eyes that made his pupils narrow and the brown in his eyes become gold despite the dullness reflecting from them. Freddie was in the kitchen cooking breakfast, having woken not long ago, while John stood near the TV idling with his arms crossed.

"Brian, how would you like your eggs?" Freddie asked from the kitchen, breaking the facade that Brian was sleeping.

"No thanks," Brian replied just above a whisper.

"You don't want eggs?"

"No, I'm just not hungry."

Freddie put down his spatula and rounded the couch. He pressed a cool hand to Brian's forehead and felt warmth, frowning when Brian himself had no reaction to his touch.

"You're a bit warm, do you feel alright?" Freddie asked in concern.

"I'm fine, I just don't feel very hungry."

"Brian, you didn't have dinner yesterday either. Are you sure you're alright?"

Brian tucked his blanket up to his chin which pulled it from his feet and ankles, then sat up and decided he would rather watch TV in his bedroom so he wouldn't be bothered by his friend's petty concern. He went up to the stairs without a word and no one attempted to stop him despite their concern boiling over.

It had been like this since Roger left. He would sit all day, practically robotic, and pretend like he was okay even when he would spend most of his nights crying when he thought he wouldn't be heard. He was in pain, deeply, but he refused to admit it even when it was obvious. 

He thought he was being careful when he did things like cry, go out at strange hours, and eat by himself at even stranger hours. He thought he was invisible but they always heard the door to his room creak, the front door open, or when he used the microwave at four in the morning. Worse was when he got sick and decided to lock the door, only having it open when John took a butter knife to the lock and found Brian slumped over the toilet asleep with vomit running down his shirt and his head resting on the lid of the seat.

Even then, when it was very clear he didn't feel well, he refused to let anyone know he was ill. His bronchitis hadn't fully subsided quite yet which meant he still had issues breathing, and most nights he was sat up in bed or on his bathroom floor coughing. His nose was still healing and the bruising hadn't quite subsided, but now he could remove the bandages without fear of infection. He hadn't shaved since Roger left, and now his face was left with a short beard just under sunken eyes that covered the entire lower half of his face but it didn't seem to even occur to him that it was there besides when he'd bring a hand up to touch it in curiousity, just to see how long it had gotten and how much he'd let it go.

It broke both Freddie and John's hearts hearing him go through so much pain alone, but the first time they tried to force him into a talk about his feelings about what Roger had done, he went into a shouting fit and went upstairs only to not be seen for another two days, only coming out to go to work. They really didn't want to have him shut himself out again, so they left him alone the best they could despite how unhealthy it was for him.

Now Brian had gone back to his room without breakfast and they feared they wouldn't be seeing him for the rest of the day. Freddie was aware he'd been keeping food in his bedroom after Brian left for work and he went to search for anything he should be worried about. Sure, going through Brian's things when he didn't know was wrong, but he hadn't been acting normally lately and he had every right to be concerned. The item he was looking for specifically was any alcohol he might have stashed, but he only found food and a few bottles of water and juice under his bed and in his drawers.

Freddie assumed he was keeping the food in his room so he wouldn't be pressured into eating with the other two, but they were still in his bedroom a week later as the plates were still missing and he hadn't brought them down; though he was sure his private food was still his secret.

"We need to talk to him," John said absently. He was still settled in front of the TV but he was distant and his thoughts were clearly off of the show he was staring at.

"You know we can't. We don't need him doing anything irrational." Freddie replied over the pan of eggs.

John turned on his heel and frowned. "Freddie, we can't just let him sit in his bed all day. He needs us."

"We can't do anything, you know how he gets."

"You can't be serious- he hasn't talked to us in days. He's eating himself up, Fred. The least we could do is try and find Roger, maybe they could talk-"

Freddie slammed his spatula down. "John. You don't think it's running me mad? He's up there sulking and we can't do anything about it, it doesn't feel good. For Roger, if he wanted to be home he would be here. We can't force him to do anything either." John blinked at his friend who suddenly became hostile. "We don't even know where the wanker is."

"You're the one being a wanker, Freddie." 

They both stared at each other with an intensity that couldn't be cut with a knife. John averted his eyes first and he stared at the floor guiltily.

"Didn't mean it." 

"I know."

The tension was still strong but it was no longer between the two men, more so from the situation burdening them. It felt like the world was coming down on their shoulders and soon they would collapse from the weight. Brian must have felt the same, but they fear he'd already fallen under the infinite pressure to be left in shattered pieces, never to be the same.

"I'm going to go upstairs and give Brian breakfast. Maybe you could make him some tea to tempt him into coming downstairs for a moment?" Freddie picked up the plate of eggs and toast and put on a forced smile that John returned and nodded, off to make his tea.

Freddie could hear Brian before he could see him and the sounds he was making weren't pleasant. At first, he thought he was moaning but as he approached the door he realized it was more of a pained keening that simply broke Freddie's heart.

"Brian?" Freddie knocked on the door lightly and the sounds ceased. "I've brought you some breakfast."

"No."

Freddie frowned. "Come on, love. It isn't much at all, I'm sure you can handle it. John is down there slaving away at a cup of tea if you'd like."

There wasn't a single sound for a moment but then the door opened and Brian was standing just behind it, curly hair pressed against the side of the door. Freddie took the invitation inside of his bedroom, one that he had been denied for weeks, and held out the plate to his friend who was still covering his face. Brian was in a pair of pajama bottoms with nothing else on, and his chest rose and fell heavily with a concerning paleness. He looked over at the plate but felt no drive to take it so instead he shut the door and got back in bed while Freddie still idled in his bedroom.

The oldest got on the side of the bed while Brian made himself comfortable and couldn't help but notice how his sheets smelled like old sweat with wrinkles lining the fitted sheet that was pulled away on one corner and hadn't been put back. Freddie wondered how he had been laying in the bed when it was in this state but he hadn't quite noticed until just then that he hadn't heard the laundry machines being used by Brian since Roger left.

The pile of clothes that were clearly over-worn to their limit was lining his closed closet, but the door jabbed open a bit to show the way hangers were left barren but still hung from the railing inside of the closet. Clearly, he hadn't done much cleaning at all. One thing that was somewhat neat in his room was his work clothes but even they were wrinkled and stained with soap and food, hopefully from the restaurant and not the food he'd been keeping in his room past their expiration date.

The one thing in the entire room that was left untouched, cleaned, and properly hung up was Roger's coat he'd left with Freddie when he rushed out of the coffee shop. It was simply hanging from the top of his closet on the door, empty and giving off an eerie mood of isolation that wasn't far from fitting.

"Do you need anything cleaned, love?" Freddie asked in concern but poorly concealed his distaste for the state of Brian's bedroom.

"No, I can do it," Brian replied plainly with his eyes straying over his breakfast. It looked good and smelled better, but he knew in his mind that eating would be even more of an overwhelming task than getting out of bed.

"I could wash your sheets and you could rest downstairs with John if you'd like."

Brian turned to his side and put his arm in front of himself just near his plate like he wanted to take it but wouldn't permit himself. "No."

Freddie could see spots of redness covering his shoulders and just a moment ago when he was able to see his back; his skin was beginning to break out from sitting and laying all day in an unlaundered bed with unwashed clothes on his body. It had to hurt, but he hadn't taken a shower either which would have helped. It was nothing short of pathetic, Freddie thought.

"Brian-"

"Freddie, what do you want from me?" Brian bit suddenly and aggressively. He sat up in bed and tucked his legs against his chest with his sheets covering the lower half of his torso, but not the rest of him where Freddie's concern that his skin was breaking out had been confirmed worse than he'd thought. 

The oldest couldn't help but blame himself for that. He could have made Brian take a shower, shave, and force him out of bed to clean his sheets and clothes but he didn't in concern of getting on his nerves. "I just want you to eat a little, maybe take a shower."

Brian frowned at him like he'd asked the secret to riches and immortality of him. It sounded so light to Freddie but so exhausting to Brian. "Instead, you leave me alone and I'll go to sleep and not bother you or John." He rolled to his other side and tucked his blanket over his neck with a hefty sigh. He didn't close his eyes, however, and he could still see Freddie in a mirror just ahead of him which allowed the other man to look at him as well.

"Brian, I know you miss him, but you can't sit in here all day and feel sorry for yourself. You're making yourself ill, look at you."

"I'm not ill." Brian denied but took his eyes away from the mirror self-consciously where Freddie still looked at him.

"You're not well yet. I'm surprised you haven't coughed up a lung yet and just look at your chest!" Freddie gestured towards him and Brian winced in embarrassment, "Your back is worse, it must be unpleasant."

"Okay, Freddie, I get it!" Brian snapped. "I'm sickening, is that what you want me to say?" He took a long and hissing breath that rattled in his chest. "I'm not fucking blind, I know how sorry I look. I can't even look at myself."

Silence fell but didn't last long because Brian started breathing heavily in distress when he crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt not to cry like a child. Everything crashed down around him too quickly, and it was like every emotion he'd been trying not to feel was suddenly at the forefront, and he couldn't let Freddie see him looking so pitiful so he forced back his emotions despite the way he felt being clear.

"Brian, that's certainly not what I said. I'm concerned about your health, you are  _not_ sickening." His friend didn't reply. "Come, let's get you in the bath. It'll help clear your head."

Brian shook his head and sniffled pathetically. "I can't."

"You can, I'll help you."

He wanted to refuse but the degradation and humiliation were already overwhelming anything more he had to say. They had seen each other completely undressed before, but it was usually when they spent a night out and got a bit too sloppy drunk and needed help getting undressed, not when one of them was too depressed to get out of bed to bathe himself. That was the worst part, the fact that he had let himself go this far and someone needed to physically step in before he caused any more physical suffering on top of the emotional suffering.

"Okay," Brian mumbled and sat himself up. It was like even standing was the most daunting responsibility of his life despite having done it a few times that day but Freddie was there to help him to the bathroom. It felt unusual to get undressed in front of his best friend sober but Freddie didn't look to mind whatsoever while he filled the bathtub.

Brian settled himself on the edge of the bath and kept a towel over himself for the time being. His cheeks and ears burned red from the situation, primarily since he couldn't hold himself from choking back tears while it happened. Everything hurt, physically and emotionally, and he just didn't know how to stop it which was the worst of all.

"I feel so stupid," Brian admitted in a low whisper.

"Oh, don't be dramatic. I've seen you nude plenty of times!"

He nearly smiled at that but he couldn't find the enthusiasm. "No, I mean...I don't want you taking care of me like I can't do it myself. I'm not weak."

Freddie saw the expression on his face and it was pitiful. It was clear the shame was devouring him raw but he couldn't tell if it was from the situation he was in now or from the situation with Roger. 

"You're not weak, you're just in need of an extra hand. It's okay, Brian."

He had nothing else to say past then so he sank into the bath, which Freddie had, of course, added bubbles to just to help cover himself and because he's Freddie and that's what he did, and wrapped his arms around his legs that were tucked in front of him. His back and chest began stinging when the warmth of the water touched the spots where he'd begun to break out which only made his embarrassment more potent. He didn't want Freddie or John to know how deep he'd let himself sink, but it was obviously too late.

"John will take care of your sheets and clothes," Brian looked up and frowned at the mention. "Then when we're done here, you can come downstairs and eat."

He wasn't being given an option in the situation which made him feel uneasy. He understood, but he didn't like it. He also didn't have the energy to protest. Perhaps he was getting a taste of his own medicine for what he'd done to Roger. He was only trying to help, but unfortunately, this isn't the time for justifications.

Far past it in fact.

Freddie helped him wash his back and chest when he made it clear he didn't have the energy or strength. He wasn't able to work enough pressure to make a difference so he was leaned forward and had a wash-cloth soaked in soap scrubbed across with as much strength as Brian could manage without the pain being too much to handle.

Brian heard the washer working and he put his chin on top of his knees that stuck out from the water with a frown. "Sorry, Fred."

"For what, dear?"

"I haven't been a good mate lately."

Freddie put his hand on Brian's shoulder and shook his head. "I should be the one apologizing, I shouldn't have let you stay in your room like this. You're clearly suffering, and I shouldn't have let you do that alone."

Freddie explained it like he was an animal, trapped and suffering in a cage. If that was the case Brian wished deep down he'd just put him out of his misery, though he didn't know what way he wanted that situation to be. God, his life sucked at the moment.

In this kind of situation, John would tell him " _Life sucks? Get a straw."_ and it took him far too long to realize that meant he should suck it up. Quite hard to suck this kind of situation up. The situation, with lack of better words, had pulp and he was running out of air.

"You know what?" Brian asked with a deeply upset smile. Freddie raised his brows in question. "I miss him, and it hurts so fucking bad because it's my fault and I can't do anything about this."

His friend took his head and pressed a kiss to his temple. Tears burned his eyes and closed his throat, and for the first time in weeks, he simply let himself cry to his heart's content. He didn't notice when Freddie started to wash his hair and even less when he began to drain the tub. It was only when his arm was being tugged on and a towel was being wrapped around his waist that he opened his eyes again and found heavy blurs interrupting his view. He blinked a few times to clear his vision but it hardly helped, so Freddie guided him to his bed that was now stripped of the sheets and went to his closet to find anything clean enough to wear.

"I'm gonna fetch some clothes from the wash, stay here," Freddie told before leaving the room.

Brian laid back on his bed and looked up to the coat dangling from his closet door. It was empty, needing someone to fill it, and it practically called to him. He knew it would be pitiful to see him wearing it but maybe just holding it wouldn't be unfortunate. 

He took the coat in his arms and folded it over his left forearm in longing. The coffee-colored jacket smelled like him, and it ached to touch. He sat back on his bed and brought the coat to his face, taking a deep breath that brought familiarity to his body. His hands tucked into the pockets multiple times just for something to do until he felt something brush against his fingertips in one of the inner pockets.

Brian hesitated for only a second before the prying got to him and he dipped his hand into the pouch, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper with a number and address poorly scribbled across the blue lines. He knew better than to pry, but he couldn't help himself and took his phone to type the address into his map. To his alarm, the address wasn't far from the exact bridge he'd jumped from. 

The number wasn't one he recognized, so he made sure Freddie wasn't coming and dialed as quickly as he could. The phone rang multiple times before someone picked up with a small, " _Hello_?"

The owner of the voice seemed to have something in their mouth, but it was more than clear who it was which allowed the tension to drip from Brian's shoulders.

" _Helloooo?"_ Roger urged impatiently. Crunching was heard over the line which made Brian smile. Probably somewhere eating crisps and relaxing based on the easiness of his tone, Brian thought hopefully. " _Alright, I'm gonna hang up mate."_

There was only a second of silence but Brian couldn't find the words to say. The line clicked and he stared at his phone resting just on top of the coat on his lap. Though the proof of life was there, just in front of him, he didn’t feel any better.

Did he now know where Roger was? Yes. Did he also know that where Roger was was also just near the bridge he’d jumped from? Yes. Did he know if the number belonged to someone or if it was a new phone as this didn't match his phone number? That was stressful.

He completely forgot about the fact that Freddie went to get clean clothes until he showed back up, arm full of a mix of regular clothes and pajamas, and settled it on the naked bed.

”Ive brought you some pajamas, I thought you’d be more comfortable in them for the day.” He swiped the phone from Brian’s hands and stared down at the coat after placing the electronic on the bed. He said nothing for the matter, but it was obvious he was thinking. “You don't need to worry yourself with that. Get dressed and come downstairs, alright?”

Brian took the clothes from him, pulling out a shirt too large for him and a pair of sweatpants. Freddie seemed content with his answer of silence and stepped out of the room after making sure to quietly shut the door.

Now alone, he got dressed. The only thoughts that clouded his mind were about how the fabric felt against his skin; it felt soft and clean. It would be an oversimplification to say that it encouraged him to feel more like himself to be cleaner, but the emotions he still had confined to bursting remained. 

He heard his name get called from the kitchen and he couldn’t help but roll his eyes in aggravation. He padded down the stairs and had the sight of Freddie and John on the sofa greet him.

They both had unusual expressions of happiness on their faces which gave Brian an eerie sense of uncomfortability. It was like they were trying their best to seem like everything was okay, but clearly had every idea that nothing was.

”What’s happening?” Brian asked slowly.

”Nothing,” John responded after dropping his expression in favor for a more natural one. “I’ve made you some tea.” He pointed to the kitchen and sat up from the sofa to guide him in.

”I appreciate it, Deak.” 

John smiled and Brian allowed him to pat him on the shoulder. “Are you feeling a bit better?”

”I suppose.” Brian replied honestly. “I could use some breakfast.”

”Well, It’s ten. Lunch?”

”Yeah, okay.”

Brian knew that they were just trying to take care of him and make sure he was doing well, but the overly-caring way they spoke to him and treated him was becoming grating. It was no wonder Roger left. It was fucking maddening.

The ‘How is it?’ this and the ‘How are you feeling now?’ that. It was a cheese sandwich, it tastes like a chesse sandwich. I’m sad, it feels like I’m sad. 

Of course, he gave generic replies; “It’s good, thanks.” and “Better.” despite feeling pretty much the same as before.

Their good will be extended until the end of the day when they made Brian a spot on the couch so he wouldn’t have to sleep on his bed when there weren’t any covers on it. They made it, gave him pillows and blankets, and made sure he was comfortable which was kind of them but made Brian feel silly.

He knew it was rude to be such an asshole about their help even in his mind, but he couldn’t help but feel the way he was being treated was almost parental.

Freddie remained downstairs with his friend until he felt completely settled into the couch just to go the extra length to show he cared. Not that Brian wasn’t aware.

“Do you think you’ll get any sleep, love?” Freddie asked, breaking his thought process from the television.

“Maybe.” He lied for the third time that day. “I suppose I could try.”

Freddie pat him on the leg and smiled like he believed him, though it was unsure whether he did or not. “Good. If you need anything you know you can always get me.”

With that, he slowly made his exit after about a million confirmations that he was there for him, that he cared for him, that he'd be up for a few hours in case he was needed. This that and this. Bottom line was that he cared.

Brian finally got him away when Freddie was practically hanging onto the stairs railway with promises of care flowing from his lips.

Now alone, he thought.

Thinking never got him in many good places, so perhaps it was his mistake to turn the clogs in his brain, dusting off the cobwebs and build up that had collected within his depressive episode. The hair on his face felt a million miles when he stroked his palms over his cheeks and he knew Roger would be disheartened to see him in such a poor state. 

That’s right, Roger. 

Roger was in the same city he’d jumped from a bridge in. Perhaps he’d already taken his, literal, swan dive for the second time just after he’d taken the phone call. Perhaps he was already gone. A body floating in a figure of water that consumed him into itself entirely without a second thought, ignorant to the importance of the life it had taken. 

What would be worse, knowing he’s dead or never knowing if he was living?

The guilt felt like the endless hair covering his lower face; unkempt and mysterious.

Brian didn’t feel himself stand from the sofa and slip his shoes on, nor did anyone hear when he took a backpack and filled it with clothes. What was he doing? He was certainly losing his mind. Was he aware? Was he even conscious when he turned the key in his car and slowly made his way out of the driveway? He wasn’t sure until he was at a stoplight with his phone buzzing in his pocket that he’d done anything. 

“He’s going to kill me,” Brian mumbled to himself, clicking the power button on his phone to silence the buzzing that seemed louder than an atom bomb. 

His thoughts were too clouded to think over who he was talking about but figuring the situation, it had to be Roger. He was going to strangle him if he was alive, or meet him at his funeral if he wasn’t. His phone buzzed again and he stared down at his glowing pocket with an anxious eye. 

The light turned green, and he found hesitation on the gas pedal. 

Go and quench his knowledge and perhaps save his best friend and love of his life, but also seem a bit off his rocker, or face Freddie and John and never know if he’d ever see Roger again from either not going to see him or from death?

When he pressed down on the gas in the foggy treelines, he clicked his phone again and threw it in the back seat, begging his mind to be quiet from the overwhelming concern he had begun to feel from the choices he’d made. 

You must understand, Brian reasoned with himself, he could be dead. 

But what if he isn’t? Brian thought. You’ll be insane for tracking him down. He hates you.

The voices were cut down by blinked back tears and the radio volume cut up to ten.

God, he felt like he was actually losing his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave a kudos and comment and share with your Queen fan friends! thank you so much for reading!!!  
> tumblr: Feedermercury, groovynspoiled (i hardly use this one please dm feedermercury)  
> 2nd and 3rd ao3; FeederMercury, SickoTaylor


	17. Lost / Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian begins to realize the weight of his actions but perhaps he changed his ways too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> much faster update, been writing a lot lately. it’s like 6 am and i’m pretty tired, i’m sad and i have been lately so whatever it happens. uhhh kudos and comments are very very welcomed and it would mean a lot if y’all shared this too- on whatever you can really it would be amazing. i’m trying to hit 300 kudos :)  
> anyways i’m not sure when the chapter after this will be published but probably sooner because i started it right after i finished this one last night so uwu  
> (update: i love the next chapter!! its real good im excited :)) -charlie <3  
> Tumblr: feedermercury, groovynspoiled

It was four in the morning when he settled for gas. 

The sky was blanketed in neutral clouds and in the distance, he overheard thunder turning in like a stampede of horses while he inserted the gas spout into his car. From inside of the car he could hear music pumping through the speakers, overwhelmingly noisy even with the doors shut.

Brian’s migraine was pumping harder than the songs vibrating the vehicle from the inside out but he couldn’t possibly think of turning it down even a little because then he’d hear the fifteen missed calls and twenty-three texts wavering his cell phone.

Freddie was going to throw him off the roof when he saw him next. John was going to hide his body. He just knew it. He could practically smell the acid they were going to use to dispose of his body.

The only reason he knew exactly how many texts and missed calls he had was because he glanced over once to see his phone lighting up three times in a row with new notifications, each from Freddie. It set in the anxiety that made his gut cold and his hands turn clammy.

Brian patted his foot in rhythm to the song but his mind was elsewhere just like the thunder in the distance. Just like the thunder, however, his mind was sinking faster than he could keep up with. Too many thoughts, too little time. His eyes burned from exhaustion and he yawned dangerously with a fist to his mouth.

“Not much longer, come on. Come on, come on, _come on_.” Brian grumbled to himself while bouncing up and down and shaking his head, curls leaping with him that dropped into his face slackly. 

It definitely looked especially strange, a grown man at four in the morning bouncing and talking to himself next to a gas station pump, but he had to shake himself up so he wouldn’t fall asleep behind the wheel. He had been on the road for hours and soon he’d be in the city where he’d gone to see Roger when he jumped from the bridge. He hadn’t been back but he feared it would bring back unpleasant memories.

He didn’t want to think of what memories it would bring to Roger- or had already brought.

Once he’d paid for the gas he climbed back into his car and bounced his forehead against the steering wheel in counts of two which was quite painful as his nose was still bruised, but at least it kept him up even if he whined with each thump.

He really wanted to sleep.

A coffee resided next to him but it had gone cold and cold coffee when he was this exhausted would make him ill- iller than he felt already. The thing about packing was that you need to get everything you’ll think you’ll need, and the one thing he needed he hadn’t brought which was his nebulizer.

Now every breath ached and his lack of sleep was the culprit and he simply couldn’t afford to throw up either in the car or on the side of the road; he knew he’d be too sick to drive here nor there and most likely need Freddie and Johns help. He wasn’t going to let it come to that, however. He could do this.

In an attempt to keep himself awake he belted out the lyrics to every song he listened to as loud as he could while also hitting himself on the thigh with a tight fist. The pain and his own voice were good enough to keep him up until he finally reached a hotel to collapse in. 

Despite the way the bed creaked impossibly loud and he saw dust flutter skyward when he did exactly that, he was completely untroubled and content in his situation. His phone occupied the bedside table and as soon as he closed his eyes he was gone from existence without even having unclothed or gotten under the covers.

 

Brian didn’t remember waking up and picking up the phone, just that he was on it when he became aware of the fact that he was awake. 

“ _Brian!”_ Shouted Freddie over the line. Brian squinted into the room and saw particles coursing through the waves of daylight imposing through the blinds.

“What- what?” Brian asked lazily with a hand running over his face.

“ _Are you drunk?_ ” More panicked this time.

“No- Jesus, Freddie. I was sleeping.”

“ _Asleep? In your car? Where did you go? I woke up and you were gone, then you didn’t come home and I’ve been having a fit. Have you ever heard of picking up a fucking phone?_ ” Brian was going to reply but Freddie continued too quickly; “ _What’s the point of having the bloody thing if you aren’t going to use it properly!_ ”

He groaned into the phone when his friend was finally finished with his tirade. “I was busy, Fred. I’m in a hotel, I’ll be home in a day or so.”

Freddie spoke to, presuming, John but he was shouting and therefore Brian could hear when he said: “ _Brian’s gone and lost his goddamn mind.”_

He knew that but it still didn’t feel too marvellous to hear it. God knows what he would say if he knew what he was doing. Brian decided as soon as he got into the car that he wouldn’t be telling Freddie nor John, instead he’d tell them when he returned either with or without good news. Either way, he’d be scolded like some child who's hand was caught in the cookie jar, and he wasn’t particularly alive enough at the moment to take that without his eyes rolling so hard they pop out of his head.

“I’m just resting. I didn’t want to fall asleep behind the wheel.” Brian excused but it was only more of a trigger for Freddie who gasped.

“ _You were gonna- oh you’re really going to be the death of me, Brian fucking May. Where are you and why aren’t you home?”_

Brian could hear John talking behind Freddie and he seemed just as nervous as the other man. Guilt settled in his lungs- or more phlegm. It was hard to tell at the moment.

“Can we do this another time? I’m exhausted, Fred.”

“ _You cannot just disappear and ask me to do this another time! Where are you?”_

Brian closed his eyes and grit his teeth. He couldn’t just hang up, Freddie would find a way to track him down like a professional investigator and kick his ass into another dimension for scaring him. He mopped a hand over his face and felt the hair covering it tickle the palm of his hand scratchily.

“I took a drive and I suppose I got in my head and I had to stop for the night.” 

Quiet. He heard voices on the line but he didn’t hear what they were discussing. 

“ _Okay, fine._ ” Freddie scoffed. “ _Promise you’ll be home soon.”_

“I’ll be home soon.”

Mistrust strained beyond the line and Freddie breathed uneasily. Brian was a lousy story-teller but there was no telling what his actual plans were and he wasn’t giving any insight. 

“ _I’m trusting you. If you need help, we’re here.”_

Brian looked to the window where the light had begun to fill the space between the bed and the wall, loitering but slowly flooding into the room like a faulty dam.

“I’ll call you later, Fred. Just to check in.” He said softly.

Freddie sighed. “ _Okay, love. If we get a call and you're dead in a ditch, I will personally strangle you to death._ ”

With that, the phone was hung up and the only noises inside of the dull hotel room were the creaking of a ceiling fan overhead and his hissing breaths that emitted from his chest. He was still exhausted, but the fact was that he’d be helpless to get any rest now as he’d just been woken up enough to stay up.

Brian pulled himself from the bed after ignoring the begging in his mind to stay in and felt the coolness of the air conditioning blast on his lower half, chilling him enough to shiver. A shower was tempting, but it would take too much energy to do so. Instead, he forced himself into the bathroom to wash his face and clean the still very damaged broke nose that had been an eyesore for both himself and his roommates.

“God.” He mumbled to himself when he caught a glimpse in the shotty mirror that had cracks covering the edges of its body.

His eyes were sunken and dark and the beard he’d been sporting as of late had gone long enough to not have spots of skin showing through. It itched but he had no supplies to shave. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to if he wanted. Everything seemed so exhausting even outside of the home.

Brian took both sides of his face near the bridge of his nose and pulled the opposite ways, feeling sharp pain strike through him from the injured bridge and blood rose to the surface. That’s exactly what he needed right now, fantastic. Balled up toilet paper pressed against the bloody spot made him wince sharply and he blinked heavily to stop his eyes from watering.

The pain was better than it had been, but the physical pain was nothing compared to how it felt when he thought about how he received the blow. Brian braced both hands on the edges of the sink and gritted his teeth while maintaining eye contact with himself. Mixed emotions swirled just under the flesh and he found himself cutting his gaze away.

What was he trying to get out of this? What was his end game? He’d planned on going to see Roger, perhaps to take him home, apologize more than anything else. He needed guidance- talking to Roger directly would help but he couldn’t even with his phone number, or the phone number he was able to be contacted by.

Roger wasn’t a damsel in distress, he was an adult who made a decision to leave and Brian knows he should respect that but god it hurt. It hurt so bad he couldn’t stand it. Even if he didn’t want to come home, making sure he was okay was the top priority on his mind. Perhaps this was the heavens reigning down the medicine he'd force-fed Roger so he could understand what it felt like to be him.

“ _’m sorry, you’ll never see me again if you don’t want but I needed you to know how sorry I am.”_

Or perhaps;

“ _Roger, I never stopped loving you and I’ve missed you every second you’ve been gone. I’m so sorry, can you ever forgive me?”_

But both dialogues his mind created came with discouraging replies from what Roger could return with:

“ _I meant what I said. You’re psychotic for coming here, I never want to see you again. I won’t ever forgive you.”_

And for the second:

“ _I never loved you. I hope I never see you again.”_

Brian slammed the side of his fist against the porcelain sink with a muffled, teeth-gritting whimper. He should go home. He shouldn’t go home. He needed a drink and a fucking nap.

A washed face could wait and instead, he made his way out of the bathroom and grabbed his things, unpacked and practically untouched, and went outside to get back on the road. He was almost to the city in which he hoped he wouldn’t come back to and the hotel's hallway of doors gave him an intensely lonely feeling as dust collected on the frames of the purple entryways.

It was cold outside so he pulled the same coffee-coloured coat Roger had worn, threw it over his shoulders and zipped it up to his neck with a side glance around the area. Rocks gnawed beneath his boots which made for jagged and bounced steps, his body feeling weak from hunger and showing when he sluggishly tugged the keys from his pocket and unlocked his car.

Inside of the vehicle was colder so he quickly turned up the heat and tucked his hands underneath his thighs with a shiver despite the coat covering his neck. The hiss of the air conditioning turning into heat took care of the silence but he still found himself yearning for someone’s voice to bounce around in the space. Freddie and John were off-limits, as was Roger, and that left him alone. 

Instead of continuing to whine and moan about his situation he made his way back into the road. 

Breakfast was a necessity, he was beginning to get nauseous and he couldn’t afford to get too ill and throw up what little he had left in his stomach.

It was decided that when he needed gas again he would get breakfast as well and it seemed like a smart idea at first but when his hands began to tremble and his head floated, he had to force himself to stop at the first station he saw. 

Breakfast was a stretch of the term. His ‘breakfast’ was a cinnamon bun and coffee but neither looked terribly appealing and he reasoned that if he got sick he would be able to blame it on the shitty food he was eating and not the anxiety churning his gut. At the register, his eyes scanned over the red carton of Marlboros that Roger had become so fond of in the past years. 

His mind battled for a decision for only a moment before he pointed them out and put a lighter on the register as well, telling himself when he saw Roger he would appreciate it despite knowing he most likely already had both items. Because they were for Roger, that's what he told himself. It was the thought that counted, right? 

Brian now sat just outside of the city, a coffee in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other. His thumb padded over the risen letters of the box and he bit his lip in hesitation. His father was a smoker but always told Brian that if he ever caught him with one in his mouth that he’d make him smoke the pack, just like any father would I suppose. He never thought the thought would be empty as he was a kid but ever since then the idea of smoking disgusted him just as it used to disgust his best friend who’d become keen to them.

He opened the cardboard container with a slight clicking sound of the box scraping against itself and lifted it to his nose. It smelled just like Roger, Freddie, and John and he smiled at the thought but was also reminded how fucked he was going to be when he told Freddie and John what he was actually doing.  What was he doing again? Oh yeah, stalking his ex-boyfriend. That sounds about right.

Brian slid one of the cigarettes up with his thumb and stuck his tongue out to collect the stick into his mouth which sort of tasted like paper but with a bite. He didn’t quite know how to place it in his hands so anyone who was looking into his car windows probably thought he was a moron. Instead of trying to copy what he’d seen, he simply held it in his mouth and lit it after what felt like aeons of hesitation.

The moment he inhaled, he didn’t let it go past his throat and instead breathed out with a wince and the smoke pooling out heavily, filling the car and almost going directly back into his mouth before he cracked the window. He felt nothing at first but when he allowed himself to inhale more, he went directly into a coughing fit that left a persistent burning in his lungs.

The reason anyone would want to start smoking went above his head, but he did find an unreasonable comfort he couldn’t explain in the sensation that made his heart slow despite it physically picking up speed.

While he drove, using his phone as a guide to the apartment buildings, he went through two cigarettes and the feeling of the violent burning subsided slowly, dripping into a calmer warmth. He just knew if anyone he was friends with saw him they would have a tantrum. In fact, he wasn’t sure he wasn’t having one himself. Much ado when you’re paranoid out of your senses.

The apartment buildings were quite large and he luckily didn’t need a code to get inside, lucky for him as Roger hadn’t left an apartment number but also just as unlucky because Roger hadn’t left a damn apartment number, giving him nothing to go off of.

He was given strange looks when he entered the building but it was mostly because he probably looked a bit unusual, perhaps frightening. A tall man with an injured nose, bags under his eyes darker than his hair, and a cigarette in his mouth probably wasn’t exactly the thing you want to see in the morning, especially in a place where you're supposed to be safe.

Fortunately, he wasn’t strange-looking enough to be questioned so he went straight to the elevator and went to the second floor as the first floor was only maintenance and elevators.

The second floor only had ten rooms which made his job easier, he saw people leaving the rooms or knocked to see if anyone was there or possibly knew where he was. Unfortunately, no one had and no one was who he was looking for but it was possible even if they did, Brian's current appearance put them off of giving him any information.

While he went floor to floor and room to room he had his phone ringing a hole in his pocket. Freddie, John, whoever, they were trying desperately to get him but he was clearly busy and they were clearly not understanding that. He ended up needing to put his phone on silent just to get a break and when he turned around, he found a young woman standing in front of him simply watching.

“You know you can’t smoke in here, man. This isn't the eighties.” She told him with a hand on her hip that slid into her pocket.

“Oh, sorry,” Brian said, quickly taking the smoke out of his mouth which left him uncertain what to do with it past then. “I-I don’t do it. It’s kind of new I suppose. I dislike the taste.”

She stared as if to say ‘ _so what?_ ’ and Brian flushed. “I’ve never seen you around here, are you just moving in?”

“Actually I don’t live here. I’m just looking for someone.”

The young woman furrowed her brows and raised her head. “Perhaps I know them.”

“I don’t think you will, he doesn’t live here either. I just know he might be here.”

“And the name is?...” She urged impatiently.

“Roger. His full name is Roger Taylor, I’ve been looking for him. He’s just one of my mates and-”

“Who did you say you were?”

Brian blinked. “I’m Brian.” He waited for her to introduce herself but she didn’t. “You?”

“My name is Peaches.” She continued, but Brian didn’t recognize the name and she seemed suddenly on edge. “And you’re here for him why?”

He watched her and the way she tilted her head slightly in fascination, almost studying him. “Do you know him?” 

“I’m just wondering why you’re looking for Roger.”

Peaches definitely knew something about Roger but she seemed that she wouldn’t be saying anything anytime soon. If she did know him, it was likely he told her about what had happened.

“Uh, he’s my mate. We had a fight, um, and I just need to know if he’s okay. I found an address in one of his jackets.”

Peach raised a brow and pursed her lips. “So, you’re stalking him?”

That didn’t sound great out loud.

“No-no I’m just- He’s ill. He has asthma, doesn’t have his inhaler.” He put a hand over his forehead. He was beginning to lose grip on the reason that he came, he was so sure that he had died at first that he hadn’t even thought to stop and cool himself down. “Just- if you know where he is, can you make sure he has an inhaler?”

Peach seemed to be thinking. “Sure, I guess. If I know where he is, that is. Do you live around here?”

“No, I’m staying in one of the hotels nearby.”

“It’s nice around here.” Peach commented with a gander around her surroundings. Once again, Brian was puzzled by her attitude. “It was nice meeting you, Brian.”

Before he could reply, she was stepping down the hallway. He wasn’t sure if he should say goodbye or if he should simply leave as she had, but either way, he was left with a sense of shame while she bounded down. She wasn’t wrong about the way he followed him, and perhaps if he’d taken Freddie’s call sooner when he first got into the car then he wouldn’t be in such a situation.

Some sense could have been knocked into him.

It seemed a bit late now.

When the charred paper scorched his fingertips it grounded him and he made his way out of the apartment buildings and to his car.

 

In his hotel room, he began to see things in a new light.

The phone that had been burning a hole in his pocket was fished out and now resided next to him on the bedside table that had collected more dust than he'd ever seen.

The soundless room had its time to be silent when he'd gone but now the television inside of the cupboard filled the space with re-runs of black and white sitcoms to keep him company. The show was stale and the accompanying laugh track was grating, but it was better than the deafening tranquillity he'd been in when he first came back to his hotel room.

His long limbs dangled over the end of the bed, along with his hands that were stretched over the sides, and another cigarette was tucked between his lips. Not really a situation he'd thought he'd be in, but here he was, reasonably receiving a disease in a hotel room while demolishing the half-way straight edge stance he'd held his entire life.

The entire situation was entirely unlike him. It was like an out of body experience and on the bed was the version of himself he would rather put back inside while the clean-shaven, straight edge, sane version of himself was watching from the corner of the room, just in the shadows but refusing to beat reason into the man on the bed.

Perhaps he was a glutton for punishment or he was just a bit manic at the moment but the haze of his actions was beginning to dribble away and the two variants of himself that had been separated, incapable of connection like opposing magnets, were sinking together until the rose painted glasses he'd had on were forced off and he recognised the way he was behaving.

Tobacco stained fingertips stretched for the phone that felt a million miles away and the various missed phone calls seemed daunting. Reason overtook and he pressed the green notification and watched as the line trilled.

" _I've decided you have no idea how to use a phone,"_ Freddie declared as soon as he picked up.

"I should come home, I don't know what I was thinking," Brian responded. A stiffness raised between them and Brian worried his lip between the stick tucked into the edge of his mouth. "I just thought he'd want to see me, you know? Well, I didn't. I honestly thought he'd be dead by the time I came." He laughed without humour and ran his palm across his forehead. "Is that insane?"

" _Well, you haven't been well. I should have been there a little more so you can blame me, dear. I was worried you'd do something like this and I suppose I wasn't being a good friend by not noticing."_ Freddie sighed into the phone and sucked his teeth. " _We can talk more in person. You're coming home, yes?"_

"No, no, Fred. None of this is on you. You're not the one to blame, I was just being ridiculous. I should have realized sooner I wasn't being rational, he's his own person and I should respect that, you know?"

" _I'm glad you're realizing that. It's good. It looks like I got the belt out for nothing, but you did lie to me so who knows?"_ Freddie laughed and Brian shook his head with a smile drawing on his lips. 

"I think I'll get dinner and head back," He rubbed his palm against his eyes and sat up out of bed, collecting his things while he did so. He hadn't brought much, only a few things like clothes and his wallet. The ever depleting of Marlboro's was added to the sack and he felt a twinge of shame upon exhaling and watching the smoke pool out. "I-I'm sorry if I alarmed you. I really thought it was something good for both of us, I suppose."

While Brian threw the backpack over his shoulder and began to tidy up the hotel room, Freddie continued. " _Well, I don't blame you. I mean, I do, but I believe this was a bit of an eye-opening experience for you. Roger's his own person, you see, and he can take care of himself."_

He nodded despite knowing he couldn't see. The crisp night breeze on his skin calmed him and let goosebumps erupt over his exposed arms save for where the jacket he'd worn earlier in the day was curled over. 

"I agree, yeah, Fred," Brian mumbled while dealing with the door lock. Freddie continued speaking while he hunched over the door, backpack hanging on his side invading his space with every movement he made.

Brian took the key to the hotel and left it under the matt as he was instructed but as soon as he turned around, hands in his pockets rummaging for his keys and head tilted as to hold the phone to his ear, he nearly fell backwards into the door.

"You know, I should make you smoke the whole pack," Roger spoke with his own cigarette tucked amidst his lips that he switched to his hand, smog draining out as he continued; "Tell me, Brian, when I punched you, did I knock the sense out of you?"

They both sat in silence, staring at one another.

"Fred, I'm gonna call you back," Brian said stiffly before hanging up, not giving Freddie a chance to answer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are so so so appreciated, tell me your favorite part of this chapter and what you thinks gonna happen next <  
> also i love the next chapter uwu


	18. Verbatim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ver·ba·tim  
> /vərˈbādəm/  
> adverb & adjective  
> in exactly the same words as were used originally.  
> "subjects were instructed to recall the passage verbatim"  
> synonyms: word for word, letter for letter, line for line, to the letter, literally, exactly, precisely, in every detail, closely, faithfully, religiously, rigorously, punctiliously, with strict attention to detail, strictly; More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo this took a while and im sorry but also not because i need it lmao. this was supposed to be out a few days ago but i got violently ill (as you know if ur on my tumblr @feedermercury) and now its 10:34 pm as i edit this and write this and honestly this chapter wouldnt have been nearly as good if i hadnt edited it now because i added so much to it and i love it more than i did earlier when i was afraid it sucked (see:tumblr) anyways im not sure when ill be able to post the next chapter as i havent even gotten an outline and im EVACUATING in the morning for that stupid fucking hurricane (i live in south carolina :/) but fear not! i will have plently of time to do the outline tomorrow in the car and write a bit of it because i already had a good ieda of what will be happening. anywho, i love u guys thank u for reading!  
> (NOTE: DROWSE WILL BE GETTING A COVER (LIKE A BOOK!)! WHEN THE ARTIST IS FINISHED THE COVER ART, IT WILL BE PLACED IN CHAPTER ONE WITH THE ARTISTS TUMBLR USER NAME AND I HONESTLY CANT WAIT TO SHOW YALL BECAUSE FROM WHAT IVE SEEN ITS JUST INCREDIBLE. THE ARTIST IS TRULY TALENTED AND IS ALWAYS MAKING ME FANART FOR MY OTHER FICS AND DROWSE.)

“Why do people die?”

A loaded question over tea and breakfast at seven in the morning. 

Why do people die? 

The look on Brian’s face when he asked was void and he added a sugar cube to the cup of tea in front of him as he did before seeing it dissolve within the honey smoke liquid right before his eyes. “I don’t know, Brian.” Roger returned with uncertainty.

“Why him? Of all people. Why?” He once again looked to the eighteen-year-old for answers.

Why him? Why do people die? Many problems for a cup of tea. 

Days had passed since the news that one of his best friends had passed he hadn’t been acting the same since. Death bothered him to his core and Roger understood why. First, it came in the form of anger and denial, then it stewed into existential dread by the fourth day, apparently boiling over during a cup of tea with too much sugar in it.

“Do you think he’s with God?” Brian asked.

“I think so.”

“Do you?”

“I said I do.”

“Hm.”

Another sugar.

“You’ll never die on me, right?” Brian asked again, now clothed with glassy eyes and a three-dimensional look of despair. “You won’t leave me? Not even for God?”

Roger inclined in his seat and took both of his hands. “I won’t leave you even for God.”

“Hm.”

Hm, indeed. Hm was what he’d been responding with most of the time these past days, it was always hm. A short moment of contemplation and interest but gone before you’ve thought it through. Hm.

“Why do you think people die?” Brian asked for verbatim.

“Sometimes it happens,” Roger responded now with an answer that he hoped would satisfy his boyfriend. “Perhaps the higher power needs them more up there than down here.”

Brian nodded contemplatively but his eyes were still misty and fallow. “I want him here, with us.”

“I know you do.”

“It doesn’t seem very fair, does it?”

“Not at all.”

“Hm.”

Roger stood from his chair and glanced into the teacup that was slowly filling with sugar, too stacked now to dissolve. 

“You know I love you?” He asked.

“I do.” A response thickly grew and Brian turned to take Rogers hand. “I love you too.”

The younger man bent down and pressed a long kiss against the top of the curly mane below him. “I won’t leave you any time soon, for God or anyone. How about we eat and go on a walk?”

Brian nodded.

Why did people die?

Why do people want to die?

Perhaps if the eighteen-year-old version of himself asked that same question to the current version of him, he would have a very different answer.

So, why do people die? Too much of a question, let’s back up. Why do people want to die? Pain, misery, distress, divorce, agony, every seven-letter word beginning with the letter A you could think of is the design.

People want to die because they don’t know how to live anymore. 

Roger didn’t know how to live, and therefore he jumped off of a bridge.  

Perhaps if Brian questioned him now, “Roger, why do people die?” his response would be; “Because it’s what we do best.”  

Humans have no responsibility to any God nor man. You live, you die. You do many things in between, pay taxes and kiss attractive people, but at the end of the day, you’re simply marking the time before you too jump off a bridge or succumb to fate. 

Brian didn’t know what it felt like to taste death and push him away, willingly or not, but Roger did and it left a mark on him both physically and mentally he would never forget. Did he want to live? Now he did, but did he? Did the itch on his wrists ever subside, did the urge to swan dive off of Peaches fifth story balcony go away? Every time he saw a knife he thought of how easy it would be to slice his jugular vein open and feel the hot blood choke him to death. 

The last one would be quite rude given the fact she had a professional carpet cleaner come every other week to make sure it was presentable and such a mess would be irritable to clean. 

Why do people die? Why do people in cars become skid marks for the living to clean, why do babies come out lifeless? Roger didn't believe in a higher power or any God, he simply didn't have anything to base his fear on. Brian, on the other hand, was religious and believed a God was looking over them and taking care of them. His reasoning for why people die was religious while Roger's wasn't. Both views were equally valid, but neither had the footing to stand on.

When Brian's friend died he didn't know why he would be taken so soon, but now looking back on it he thought perhaps there was a reason.

So the questions remain; why do people die?

 

* * *

 

 

"You look like shit," Roger commented with a once-over Brian's body. "Like, really. You look like shit." 

 Brian agreed, but he didn't give him the reward of physical agreement. Roger looked well, actually, much better than he'd thought he'd look when the only image of him that he'd come up with in his delusional subconscious was a corpse. 

The roots in his blonde hair had begun to darken but the same hair had been cut to his neck, more in the style of what could be recognised as a mullet, but it didn't look bad. Familiar would be the word; it wasn't unlike the cut he had long before the bridge and everything took a turn.

He looked much cleaner than he did when he saw him last. Healthier, even. His cheeks and arms were just slightly fuller from the concerning thinness he had come to show in the past months.

Brian couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen him, but it had been too long. Actually, he couldn't remember a lot of things but that was beside the point. 

The only thing out of place on him was a swollen lip that was redder than the rest of him with a long cut that slightly slurred him. Brian decided against asking in case it was something that would set him off the edge.

Roger raised his brow and crossed his arms waiting for a reply. "So, what, you grow a beard and became some sort of hitman who drags...Marlboro's? At least you don't have shitty taste." 

"How did you know I was here?" Brian asked plainly and snubbed out the cigarette with glowing red cheeks.  

"How did you know _I_ was here?"  

That was a very decent question. 

"I didn't. I just- I don't know." He gripped the strap of his backpack. "I was just leaving." 

"Peach told me she saw a tall, curly-haired man with a fucked-up nose walking around the building looking for me. First I thought it was you but she told me he was smoking in the hallway and I knew you weren't some knob who would smoke, much less in a bloody building." He smiled while toeing the gravel with the tip of his boot. "But now I kind of think she was talking to you."

"She didn't tell you my name?" 

"Oh, that too." He laughed but misplaced the smile on his face. "Nearly smothered me when she told me she recognized your name. She, uh, isn't fond of the arsehole who cheated on me." 

Brian's cheeks grew redder. "Oh." 

"Yeah, _oh_." 

He didn't know how to respond and it seemed Roger didn't either. The tension between them burned and Brian could see the blonde's chest rising and falling quickly as the pressure closed in. 

"Um, Brian-" 

"I don't know what to say, Rog," Brian mumbled a bit too quietly. Every scenario he'd thought of where he saw him again was slipping from his mind and suddenly he was left speechless. 

Roger looked away and through the misty lights of the hotel room ahead of him, a shine was over his eyes that he looked up to dispell. "God, I just woke up from the best nap of my life. Peach is making dinner, some sort of healthy salmon whatever. She's a nurse," He rolled his eyes and swiped a hand over his face. "She's all about that shit. Used to be all about blue liquor and shrooms but I suppose a lot of things change." 

"Yeah?" Brian asked. 

"Yeah. She isn't a fan of you but I'm sure she wouldn't mind having you for dinner," Roger ran a hand through his hair. "Even if you are looking like a junkie these days." 

He nodded despite the anxiety bubble swelling in his chest. By the looks of it, Roger wiping his hands on his jeans multiple times over and staring at him like he was going to hit him at any moment, he felt the same way. 

"We can drive there. Did you walk here?" Brian asked while finally pulling out his keys. 

"Yeah. I did actually just wake up, so I would have been quicker but I'm still quite tired." 

"I think you made it here just in time." 

Roger smiled weakly and got into the passenger side of the car.

It felt familiar but smoke had already started to adhere to the leather of the seats. What an odd situation, Roger thought. Not only the car but the fact Brian was about to be face to face with someone who he'd never thought would be in the same room as him. It was very strange, and he couldn't place the feeling. 

"Are you okay?" Roger asked abruptly.  

"I should be asking you that."  

Another long silence. 

"Brian, I can't pretend this isn't weird."  

Brian leaned back into his seat and frowned. The city lights were the only thing that illuminated the car and each one that passed by created a golden colouration over the men. "Why did you come back here? Of all places, doesn't this place make you..." He trailed off with a tap on the steering wheel. 

When he didn't get a response, he looked over and noticed Roger was looking strongly at his lap. In fact, he hadn't looked up the entire time. 

"Rog?" He asked again. 

"I don't like it here." He whispered. "I just felt safer with someone I knew. Haven't gone outside since I arrived." 

"You said you walked here." 

"I did." 

Roger crossed his arms and ate into his lower lip. "I'd rather not talk about this now. It's not like I want to be here. I just couldn't be..." He trailed off and didn't continue but Brian knew what he'd meant to say; he couldn't be near him anymore. 

Brian kept his mouth shut for the rest of the drive and didn't ask when he saw Roger wince out of the corner of his eye when they hit a bump or sped up after every green light. 

The apartment buildings had a new light when he was already with Roger and he wasn't out of his mind with sorrow. Now the only thing he was out of his mind with was guilt, and perhaps a little bit of apprehension given the silence stuck between them

Despite his appearance, Roger seemed tense. It was understandable given the circumstances but the way he was behaving was even putting Brian on edge, more so than before.

"Peach has a cat, I hope you don't care," Roger commented to fill the air while they stepped into the elevator. "Well, he used to be mine. His name is Cat." 

He remembered that Roger told him the night he'd gotten drunk. He'd failed to mention the fact he'd given the cat to someone named Peaches, but he didn't blame him.

"You're not allergic or anything," Roger closed with crossed arms. "He's cool, he'll probably bite your feet if you get too close though." He smiled and shook his head with a hand running through the side of his shortened hair.

Brian didn't know how to respond to his cat story, so instead, he opted to decline back into the silence and elevator music. He wasn't sure why Peach would be on the third story if the apartment she lived in was on the fifth, but he didn't question it even when she peeked her head out of the door and stared him down like he was the devil himself. 

"Nice seeing you again," Brian smiled weakly and she nodded with a hand on top of her strawberry blonde hair that hung just over her forehead in loose bangs.

When he entered, he first saw a pillow and blanket set up on the sofa and on the coffee table in front of the furniture was a sleeping mask with earplugs on top. On the pillow was a calico cat who sat up when he saw Roger to stretch and creep down to rub his legs with his body. 

The rest of the apartment was almost too clean and organized. It felt like a home off of a movie set or as if someone who lived there was hiding something. The kitchen had photos of the woman and her family but one, in particular, caught his eye when he saw blonde hair and familiar blue eyes inside of the frame.  

It had to have been taken within the past few years as Roger's hair was similar to how it was now but it couldn't have been taken recently as he was much slimmer, sickly-looking even with a smile on his face while holding a peace sign up. 

Roger noticed the way Brian was staring and turned himself to the photo as well but he looked away as soon as his eye caught the framed picture.

"So, I don't think we actually got properly introduced. I'm Brian," He held out his hand and Peach took it with a warm smile despite the hesitation she showed.

Peach wore a nurses uniform set with the ID tag and all. Her strawberry blonde hair that was nearly ginger was loosely drawn in the back but parts, where the hair was pulled backwards and remained, showed she had sprayed it down earlier in the day. By the looks of it, she had just recently gotten off of work but she must have had enough time to prepare supper since the smell wafting through the home was evident.

"I'm Peach. That's Cat, he's a dick." She pointed to the animal on the floor who was currently attempting to eat Roger's black shoelaces. He didn't look like a dick but he hadn't had enough time to see him being one.

"He looks okay," Brian bent down to the floor and ran a hand over the cat's back, smiling when he leaned into the touch. Peach wasn't wrong about Cat being a dick, though, because as soon as he really began to enjoy the affection the human was giving him he bit Brian's hand with a hiss. Traitor, Brian thought.

"Okay, yeah, he's a dick." He approved.

That got a smile out of both Roger and Peach and that was good enough for him. 

The home smelled like fish, not in a bad way but the way you would feel when someone was cooking dinner and you were too anxious to say you were hungry. Except now he was even more anxious from the tension and he wasn't sure eating was going to help. 

"You and Roger set the table and I'll get plates together," Peach directed and Roger did as he was told without question. 

Brian followed Roger into the kitchen and watched as he began to set the table, organizing forks and such. It was strange to see him perform so domestically when it was a fight just to get him to eat without a complaint in his house. When they were done, they sat at the table and waited for the girl in the kitchen to finish. 

"You know, It's impossible to get you to sit down and eat, I'm surprised she's been able to get you to set the table." 

Roger shook his head and smiled. "Yeah, well, she made it clear that if I don't help then I don't eat either. She's not the type to wait for me to want it." He looked up at Brian and raised a brow, dropping his tone to a quieter volume; "Couch isn't a pull-out." 

He wasn't sure if he understood what he'd meant but his comment was a shallow attempt to somehow make it seem as if the apartment wasn't as good as the house he'd been staying in but it was in vain because clearly, he had it better here than he did there.

"Rog, I know this is strange. I know we need to talk. We need to do a lot of things." Brian inhaled sharply and ran his fingers into his hair. "But, I don't know if this is the time." 

"Right," He frowned. "Sorry."

Now he felt like a piece of shit for making Roger feel like he had to apologize but Peach walked in just as he was opening his mouth to say something.

Three plates of salmon and broccoli were set in her hands skillfully and Roger sat down obediently when she entered the room. Brian followed suit and took a napkin to set in his lap.

“Brian, I’ve heard you’re a vegetarian but you eat shrimp so I must assume you eat fish.” Peach smiled and put the plate in front of him. “If not, I can heat something up.”

“This’ll be alright, thank you.”

“Thank you, Peach.” Roger smiled and in return he got his cheek pinched by the girl to which he whined and slapped her hand away.

"Brian," She raised her gaze and a friendliness omitted from her. If he hadn't been told she held a negative view of him, he would have believed she rather enjoyed him. "Do you pray before dinner?"

"I do, but not often. I mostly do it when I'm alone."

"Would you like to?"

Brian nodded and took her hand and together they bowed their heads, though Brian kept his eyes open for just a moment and observed the way Roger proceeded to eat while remaining silent to allow his friends to pray.

"God thank you for this meal we're about to eat and may it nourish our bodies, amen." Peach closed the prayer and released Brian's hand, though the look she presented him was of honest happiness and he felt he had just opened something up in the relationship he worried was going to be sealed by past actions forever.

"So, you're a nurse, then?" Raised Brian in question who raised a bite of salmon to his lips as he asked. It tasted garlicky and fresh.

"I am. I've been working at the hospital near here for around a year, River View Treatment Center."

Though Roger had no reaction he must have had thoughts of where she worked. The River View Treatment Center was where Roger had been brought right after his attempt, and it was a wonder they never crossed paths. Unless of course, that was something else Roger didn't mention.

Brian nodded thoughtfully and returned with a simple; "I've been there, it's nice." 

"And you work in a restaurant, then?"

"Mhm, it's not exactly what I'd like to do but it's what pays the bills," A questioning gaze invited him to continue. "I have a passion for, uh, astrology. Stars and such. I've been trying to go back to university but the money is tight."

Brushing off the thing he's passionate about seemed to strike something in Roger and he sat up with a frown. "It's a lot cooler than what he's making it seem, he's talked about it since we were kids."

Brian blushed in response and Peach nodded with a wide smile.

When the conversation shifted a bit towards Peach and her job, Roger took a fork and pointed it towards Brian's face. "Maybe you could take a look at Brian's nose later?"

The pain in the bridge of his nose had dwindled as he had been far too distracted to feel it, but now having it mentioned brought the stinging back.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. I will, after dinner, love.”

It was sweet the way she was so polite with Roger and how he obeyed her, he was beginning to wonder what she’d done to get him to be so obedient so he could do it as well. It was most likely the fact she was stern and didn’t let up by the looks of it but the imagination wandered.

“So, Brian, how did you get that broken nose?” 

He looked to Roger without thinking and she nodded with an, ‘ah’.

“So it was you?” Her attention was drawn to Roger who had begun to tense.

Brian opened his mouth to speak but Roger closed him down with nervous stutter that turned into a sigh. "When I left Brian's I accidently shut the door in his face," He pat himself on the forehead with a forced smile. "My temper got the best of me I suppose. He was just trying to make sure I didn't get my backpack caught in the door."

Brian blinked at him and a side-glance his direction silenced anything in his mind. He hadn't imagined what his excuse staying with her would be, but he didn't think it would be something that closer to a lie than anything. 

The rest of dinner was spent anxiously on both sides. If Brian spoke, he was being watched like a hawk for anything that could catch his friend in his lie. It seemed he'd taken every bad thing Brian had ever done to him in the home and shifted it on himself based on what stories he told during the dinner.

" _When I left Brian's, he made sure I had everything I needed._ " Was one. He only mentioned it twice when Peach asked Brian himself how he was doing but both times, Roger spoke over quickly.

It was obviously suspicious and the burning red cheeks under his blue eyes were more than enough proof that he might not be so honest. Thankfully for him, Peach didn't question despite the obvious suspicion dwelling just behind her lips.

By the end, Brian wasn't sure what to say or do. Peach had warmed up greatly but he felt like he wasn't being himself, and it wasn't just the empty feeling in him that had been plaguing him for the past days.

A spot on the living room floor just in front of the sofa was made, a few blankets and a pillow on the carpet. Apologies about how small the sofa was were freely given but Brian didn't mind, the spot on the floor was good enough for him.

It wasn't long until Peach and Roger were saying their goodnight's in the form of hugs and kisses, surprisingly on the lips but didn't last long for any romantic intention. Brian received a nod.

Now Roger sat on the sofa, legs tucked under him and a hand through his hair. Nervous energy floated through the air and it was clear something was hanging on just by the tip of his tongue that he wasn't allowing himself to say.

"Roger, you know what happened at the house wasn't your fault." So he spoke for him.

"I didn't want her to worry."

"But I need you to know-"

"Jesus Brian- I know. I lied, I know that. I don't like stressing Peach out, she's worried about me more than anyone should." He looked to his left to avoid Brian's gaze.

"I haven't seen you in a month, do you expect me to just not talk about what happened?"

Roger looked towards the kitchen with strong intent. "No, I just...I don't know. I guess I wasn't ready to have this conversation when I heard you came."

"Right. I'm sorry I came." He crossed his legs in front of him on the comforter below him.

"No, I didn't mean- I mean...I just don't know what you want me to say."

Uncomfortable energy swam through the stiff apartment air. What was he supposed to do? Pull it out of him? With Roger, getting things out of him was like yanking teeth.

"I don't want you to say anything." Brian sighed. "I can't say I was expecting to stay in the city tonight, especially not here. Everything is just a bit odd right now."

"You can go home if you want."

Brian shook his head but looked up self-consciously. "Rog, you're shutting me out again." Roger looked down at him. "You obviously came to see me for a reason, and it wasn't to tell me to go home."

"I wanted to talk to you."

Now he was getting somewhere.

"I wanted to...Tell you I was okay. That you don't need to worry. All that jazz." Roger waved his hands but tucked them under his legs.

Now he was completely lost. He thought he was getting somewhere, but now he has shut off again. There was something Roger wasn't telling him and it was clear but he wasn't going to be able to get it out of him.

"Roger, just tell me what you're thinking." Brian practically begged.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Brian!" Roger shouted. His gaze shifted to Peaches bedroom door and he quieted himself with a tight-lipped frown. "I didn't want you driving home in the dark when you're obviously upset, that's all. I offered you somewhere to stay for tonight, you can stay or you can go home."

He tucked his face into his hands. Fuck. He'd been somewhere earlier and he'd just lost him completely. When Brian looked up again to respond, Roger was on his side reaching for the lamp next to him. When the lamp was off, he could see the city lights streaking in through the window that illuminated the room poorly but well enough to be able to see if he squinted.

For only a moment he wondered if that was his invitation to leave, but he remained on the blankets that were his bed for the night. If Roger wanted him gone he wouldn't have come in the first place, right? So now he sat there, wondering what the fuck he was supposed to do now. 

The answer didn't come. His exhaustion took him soon after he laid down and he fell asleep to the familiar breathing of his best friend who probably wouldn't have the guts to look at him in the morning.

* * *

It was drizzling when he first got outside.

Now the clouds had begun to flit light like photography and loud crashes, rumbling, and booms conquered the rackets of the cityscape that Roger hated. The sounds of cars and people shouting in the streets were something he still couldn't handle by himself, and most nights out there he found himself humming to himself to avoid the sounds that provoked panic in his gut. 

He hated being outside and the longer he sat out on the patio of the fifth story floor, the more things his eyes adjusted to in the darkness. 

A garbage truck there, a stray dog here.  

In the distance, he could see familiar lights lining the wiring of the bridge. He didn't know the name of the bridge, he didn't plan that far ahead, but he personally wouldn't want to know. 

He didn't like to be outside.

The familiar pattern of rain hitting a blanketed tarp above the terrace cut his mind away and he tore his eyes away from the structure in the distance. It felt bad, just like knowing right at the moment Brian was drooling on Peaches pillows on the floor of the living room. 

He couldn't quite tell if the situation was good or not, if he felt alright or not, many emotions swirled in his head until he could hardly tell who he was or what was in his mind.  

Roger swiped a wrist over his eyes after a whine made its way through his throat and wetness came back, though it could have been the rain blowing back in his face.

The loneliness of the balcony was short-lived as the door, left cracked, slid open and someone raced out to brace the guard rail. He was going to say hello, but the words caught in his throat when Brian hunched his back over the rail and began retching violently. 

He sat watching as Brian continued to heave over the rail with the dinner Peach had made coming up along with what Roger couldn't make out. While he retched, he choked heavily and let his arms coil around the metal to prop him up when his legs faltered from dizziness.

"You're not used to smoking," Roger commented plainly. "You're ill, that would be why."

Brian clamped a hand over his mouth and collapsed to the cement floor with one hand still locked on the metal bar, and nodded. Through heavy breathing, he said: "Thanks, I didn't know." 

"Don't think you'll be doing that again, huh?"

"No," He shook his head immediately and hiccuped painfully with a whine accompanying it. "Not again." 

"Don't you remember when Mr.May warned you about smoking, young man?" Roger smiled and put both of his feet up into the chair. "Or was this just to be the coolest kid in school?" 

Brian rolled his eyes and stroked the palm of his hand across his belly that had already begun to spin achingly again, complaining in warning that he may barf his guts up again if he didn't move right. "Shut up, Rog."

The blonde nodded but his smile faded. “It’s not like you,” He saw Brian look up at him with a frown. “It’s really not like you. Me? Sure, that’s normal. You, however...”

Roger turned his head away from his friend and he turned away as well. Shame bubbled in his stomach but it could have been more sickness fighting its way up.

”I know,” He admitted weakly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

”Stress.” Roger curled back the top of the cardboard cigarette box and bit the tip of one of the smokes inside, tucking it in the edge of his lip with a smile. “No one starts smoking for fun, Bri.”  

Brian caught himself before he asked why he smoked as it was quite clear. 

“You’re right. I-I shouldn’t be whining about my life. You’re the one who I should be concerned with, not myself." 

Roger looked up and leaned into the seat that creaked wearily under him. “You don’t have to put your stress on hold just because you think my life sucks worse than yours. Your pain isn’t any less painful because I’m also in pain.” He inhaled sharply. “Pains pain." 

Brian understood but he shook his head. “But this is different.” 

”Why is this different?” 

”Because...Because...”  

Roger pointed at him. “Because I jumped off that bridge and you’re just sad?” Then he pointed at the bridge in the distance. 

Brian didn’t respond this time, Roger looked like he wanted to continue anyways.

”I jump off a bridge and you’re depressed. You’re upset, I’m upset. I think we can both see we’re upset. Brian, just because I have a bad life doesn’t mean you can’t feel pain. There are starving kids all over the world who probably have it worse than us, does that mean we can’t be sad?” 

He shook his head. 

”Exactly. This isn’t the bloody Olympics we aren’t training for who’s life is worse or who’s sadder. Pain affects everyone and everyone is entitled to their pain.” Roger looked down and smiled. “Pain is pain. You’re allowed to be sorry for yourself even if you think my life is a wreck.” 

Brian allowed himself to smile and they both shared glances. He was right, he knew that, and for a moment he let himself feel it.

”I’m sorry I went a bit mad and showed up here looking for you. I was worried, and I suppose it just took over.”

Roger was avoiding eye contact now but it was clear he was listening, he was worrying his lip heavily and the end of his cigarette was being chewed.

”I care about you. I do, and I shouldn’t have trapped you in our house. That’s not helpful, that’s...prison.” Brian reaches his head back against the concrete wall and shook his head. “I understand if you hate me. I know you don't want me here, so tomorrow I'll go and you can stay here with Peach.” 

A response didn’t come. When he looked up, Roger had his head down and a hand running over his face. 

With his hands remaining on his face, Roger choked out, “I’m sorry about your nose. I’m sorry I- I don’t hate you. I don't want you to go.” 

“We need to change things. We can’t sit around and act like nothings wrong. We need to talk through things, even if it’s hard.” 

Roger nodded and connected his elbow to the glass table, the hand holding his cigarette going to his head where he had his eyes closed. “I agree, yes. Brian, I’m really sorry-“

”I know. I am too.”

"I've been such a cunt about everything tonight, and-and I shouldn't have been," He took a heaving breath through tears that began to grace down his cheeks. "I just hate everything about what I did when I left, and I'm so piss-poor at telling you I'm sorry and how I really feel," He breathed shakily. "I'm sorry."

Brian stood and sat in front of him. He took his free hand in his own and looked up to him with the only lighting to be seen being the lightning striking behind them. He ran his fingers over the bones sticking out of his friend's hand and sighed longingly. "Rog, what happened when you left wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have been such a prat to you, okay? I shouldn't have, and I shouldn't have ever thought of hurting you like I did all that time ago." 

Brian continued; "You aren't hard to love, and you never were. It's difficult to love anyone when you're so sad and I should have been honest with you when I could have been, but it's in the past and I'll never be able to tell you how sorry I am that I ever hurt you like that."

The air was heavy with emotion and both of them held their hands together as tight as they could, near fearing floating away from each other.

"I'd kiss you but," Brian grinned weakly. "I don't think my breath smells the greatest right now." 

"Well, I waited for five years. I think I can wait another five hours." 

It was only another ten minutes before he was getting sick over the railing again; right onto the sidewalk that some poor worker would have to clean in the morning. This time Roger stood by and rubbed his back in slow, soothing circles while he heaved with tears running down flushed cheeks from the strain of it.  

By the time they got back inside, Brian practically being dragged by the arms, the storm had set completely over the home and the thunder and lightning created an environment tough to sleep in. The brunette was set on the floor with a bucket placed on his chest that he used every few minutes to either heave or gag without product into and Roger sat on the sofa watching television, unable to sleep through the sounds of the storms. 

Foam earplugs were in his ears to block out the sound so the captions on the TV were put on. The plugs doubled as a block for the heavy breathing and sound coming from his friend on the floor but every few minutes he would remove them to make sure Brian hadn't fallen unconscious with his head in the bucket of his own puke. 

Soon, Brian was on the floor with the bucket to his side noiselessly watching the television with Roger behind him rocking the bottom of his socked foot into his back and hips, simply swaying back and forth up and down his spine. Halfway through one of the shows they'd been watching, Roger patted Brian in the shoulder and when he turned around, the blonde was petting a spot on the couch next to himself. The sofa would be too small for two people to lay down fully but sitting would be okay. 

Brian sat up on the sofa and as soon as he was up, Roger was down. His head rested on his lap and he found himself running his fingers through Roger's newly shortened hair. The younger man's breathing slowed and his eyes fluttered shut after turning to face Brian's stomach, facing away from the tv, and putting his arm under his thigh while the other went in front of himself. 

When he'd thought he was asleep, Roger reached to his ear and removed one of the earplugs while settling himself in a position to look up.

"Hey," Roger whispered which got the brunettes attention. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Brian whispered back. He pressed a kiss to his fingertips and touched it onto Roger's nose who smiled and made himself comfortable again. 

It didn't take long to get back to sleep, and soon after Roger had fallen asleep he was close behind, their hands intertwined lovingly with smiles on their blushing cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please kudos, comment, and share with your friends!


	19. I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Roger enjoy their time alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi so heres a little cute chapter without any angst cause its what they deserve :) i got in a skateboarding accident yesterday so im in a bit of pain while i write this but! its okay uwu. i have a lot of fics lined up for both this account and my main Feedermercury so look out for those! ill probably be uploading a new series today called In Counts Of Two so! super excited about that, its another one thats really based on my real life :) enjoy this chapter!
> 
> (ALSO IMPORTANT UPDATE: DROWSE HAS BEEN MADE COVER ART! IF THIS TURNS INTO A BOOK (IM THINKING ABOUT PUBLISHING IT FOR MYSELF AND SOME OTHERS BUT NOT LIKE AS A REAL BOOK CAUSE THEN ID HAVE TO CHANGE THE NAMES) IT WILL BE THE COVER OF IT. THE ART IS FUCKING INCREDIBLE AND THE ARTIST WILL BE MENTIONED AND ILL BE MAKING A CHAPTER FOR IT. ILL PLACE IT BEFORE CH1 SO IF DROWSE UPDATES TWICE TODAY YOU KNOW WHY)

The thing that woke Roger up wasn't Peach getting him for breakfast or Brian departing from the sofa. It was a cell phone ringing. When he cracked his eyes open he saw a light flashing in the back of Brian's pocket but Brian had remained where he had been from the night before, though his head was now perched on the arm of the sofa and his legs were up.

With a grunt from sitting up, he snaked his phone from his back pocket which only made Brian wince in his sleep from the movement. 

“Yes?” He asked gruffly with his throat dry.

“ _Who the fuck- Roger._ ”

“That would be who the fuck.”

“ _Give the phone to Brian._ ”

He giggled. Based on his tone it should be a good ear full too, so he quickly turned up the volume, so he could snoop in on their conversation, and held the phone up. “Bri, it’s for you, get up. Freddie wants your head on a stake.”

Brian whined and shook his head, ducking his sleep paled face within the couch.

Roger raised a brow and put the phone back to his own ear. “He’s busy.”

“ _Make him not busy or I’ll crawl out of this phone and beat you to death._ ”

One, Roger would love to see that. Two, that was a good enough threat for him. 

With a swiftness a ninja would be envious of, Roger struck the phone against Brian’s head with a thud that would make you think his head was hollow. Good enough to get his attention, Brian moaned pitifully and sat up with dried and fresh drool evident on his cheek.

“What, Roger, what?!” He urged impatiently and thickly with both the sleep and the sore throat that throwing up came with such a thing clogging his vocals.

“Freddie’s on the bloody phone and if you don’t answer it he’s gonna...I don’t know, slither out of the phone and beat us to death.”

Brian stared at him with a confused mixture that only the innocence of sleepiness could give. He took the phone and pressed it to his ear where suddenly the shouting began and he also began shouted into the couch that muffled him. Nothing intelligent came out of his shouting, mostly babbles and something that sounded only a little bit like “ _Jesus Christ, Freddie!_ ” but turned into “ _Jurmirmur Chrur Mreddie!_ ” so who’s to say?

“Yes, I know,” Brian said without interest. “I know. I know. No. No. Yes, he did. No, he didn’t. Oh my god.” The last part was delivered with a strangling motion to his own throat and Roger had to choke a laugh down.

“Freddie, you’re right I was being a bit insane. I’m okay though, I’m with Roger and Peaches.” Silence and some muttered talking. “She took him to rehab. She’s got an apartment up in the city.”

The conversation went on, basically, just Brian saying ‘ _mhm_ ’ and ‘ _yep_ ’ and ‘ _you did tell me so_ ’ and the works. 

Once the phone call had reached a compromise, Brian relaxed into the sofa and slowly pulled the phone from his ear with a tense smile.

“Alright?” Roger asked.

“Alright.”

In a sharp motion, Roger jumped on Brian’s lap to which he puffed air out at the sudden weight on his legs. He wrapped his arms around the brunette's neck and grinned wide with a loving gaze, hearts practically in his eyes, and Brian returned the smile curiously.

“What’s this?” Brian asked to the sound of soft humming.

“I can’t hug my friend?”

“You hug all of your friends like this, yeah?”

“Mmm, just the ones I’m awfully fond of. Haven’t seen me straddling Freddie? We do it all the time.”

Brian laughed and shook his head. “Can’t say I have.”

“Oh, of course. In the wee hours, wearing my satin panties and fuck-me pumps with my hair in some braids. It’s a view.”

He ate into his bottom lip and raised a brow. “Shame I didn’t see, it certainly sounds like one of the wonders of the world.”

Long fingers brushed over Brian’s face and just as the blonde leaned in, he pushed away and tugged on the short black hair covering his face.

“We have to get you a shave.” Roger pat his face for good measure and he frowned.

“Ah, I don't know, Rog. It isn’t terrible, right?” Brian offered a weak smile to make it better but it wasn’t being bought. The brunette's hand was tugged and sluggishly he was brought to his feet by Roger who was practically bouncing.

“You’re surprisingly happy given the circumstances,” Brian commented as he was dragged out of the living room.

"No reason not to be happy, right?" He looked to Brian for a genuine answer and he quickly shook his head, so he was content once again.

They walked into the empty bedroom that belonged to Peach where the lights were off but the curtains were drawn to expose her cleaned room where the bed had been made before she'd left to work. Brian tugged back for a bit in confusion, not wanting to invade Peaches privacy.

“Is she home?” 

“No, she’s at work. She lets me use whatever I want it’s fine.”

The bathroom was a blushing pink and had black and white checker tiles for the floor, though the ends of each white tile there was a dusting of blue.

Brian was set against the lid of the toilet and told to sit still while Roger got together a plastic cup of warm water, shaving cream, and a shaving razor. The first thought, selfishly, that Brian had was to take the razor from him in case he hurt himself but he stopped himself just in time. He could trust him.

"Kind of reminds me of when I was in the hospital..." Roger mumbled while he sat in front of his friend and began gently spreading shaving cream over his face.

"You were pretty out during that, do you remember any of that night?"

"A little. I remember you brushed my hair," He squinted in thought. "I remember you cried; I remember wanting to ask you what was wrong but my mouth couldn't form the words."

There wasn't any sadness in his words or how he said them but Brian couldn't help but frown a bit with a melancholy blue settling over him.

"Do you remember when I got you some water and you just kind of let it dribble out of your mouth?" 

Roger's eyes widened and he laughed. "No! That didn't happen, shut up."

"Oh yeah," Brian drooped his head and made a face where his mouth dropped open. "Just like that."

Roger slapped him over the head and he chuckled. "You talk a lot in your sleep."

"What's new?" He began running the razor down Brian's cheeks and the thick hair came with it.

"I missed it, really. Talked to me last night too. You can't even shut your mouth in your sleep."

"Talent."

A contented quietness resigned over the room and the only sound in the room was the scratchy razor rolling over hair and water being swished as he continued to run the blades through to clean it. 

It didn't take long for Brian's face to be completely shaved, though Roger took time to cut his friend a moustache which wasn't unlike Freddie's that he begged him to shave off too. 

"I like it. You look like Brian again." He smiled and ran a dry towel over his cheeks to collect the dampness and leftover shaving cream. Brian responded by running a hand through Roger's cropped blonde hair with a comparable smile.

"I like this a lot, it's familiar. You look how you used to."

"Is that good?"

"Mhm. Happier then."

Roger's melancholy eyes drooped and he nodded with his lips pursing. "I think I'm okay right now, though. Right?" A self-conscious gaze reached to the brunette for answers, anything, as if he could give him the exact description of his own emotional state.

"You tell me."

"I think I am."

"Then yeah, you are okay."

The air was thick with domestic tension and Roger pushed himself up to brush his lips against Brian's chin as it was what he could reach. With a breathless laugh, Brian took the blonde's jaw and lifted his head to seal the deal with a sensitive and adoring kiss on the lips that lasted for as long as they could hold their breath.

With panting, charmed breathing, Roger reached under Brian's shirt and traced his fingers under his rib cage. Warm chills erupted all over his flesh as he continued, reaching to his stomach where he rested his thumbs on his hip bones that exhibited through the skin.

“You’re warm.”

Brian presses his lips together and ran his fingers through either side of the blonde hair in front of him. It was clean and lovely. He pressed a kiss to his head with his thumbs running over the skin near his ears.

“I love you,” Brian spoke into his hair. He paused when he realized what he’d said and he felt Roger do the same. 

Their eyes met and Brian was concerned he’d done something terrible but his jaw was looked over with sympathetic eyes as blue as the sea. 

“I think I love you too.”

The question of love wouldn’t have been an issue five years ago, simply a question that’s programmed response would be _‘I love you too’_ but they hadn’t been lovers, besides sexually, in years. Things changed. Their love had died the day the phone rang and Brian’s other lover spoke. He was sure that would have been the end.

“You do?” Brian asked, dumbfounded and nervous. “Roger-“

“Brian, I love you.” He picked his hand up and nodded with a smile.

He could get used to hearing that. “One more time?”

Roger shook his head with a laugh. “I, Roger, love you, Brian.”

He scooped up his friend into a hug and they both laughed into each others hair. Ease sank over them and they waited in the bathroom for only a moment more before they went to the living room to make breakfast.

Brian held Roger in his lap while they both ate and watched television, kissing the back of his head when Roger used his shirt sleeve to wipe his mouth instead of his own while using the excuse, ‘ _Peach gave me this shirt, I don’t wanna ruin it!’_ as if he didn’t mind wiping hot sauce and egg yolk on Brian’s shirt.

“I love you, Rog,” Brian said lovingly when he finished his plate.

“I love you too, Bri,” Roger replied absently but genuinely as his focus was on the television in front of them. He grinned wider and more genuinely than he had in months when he once again felt lips stroke across the back of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone notice the reference to another one of my stories? if you didn’t get it i’ll let you figure it out, if you didn’t get it you probably haven’t read it ;)


	20. Still Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Roger go out on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wont ever abandon this fic, i just have a hard time writing sometimes and i worked on a lot of other fics instead of this because i have a few things im struggling with plot wise. i wont say what they are, but im figuring it out. its just one thing really and i want to do it right. the rest after this? i got it all figured out. ive now planned the rest of the fic! how many chapters are left? no idea. more than 10 most likely. it really depends cause i have a lot of ideas tbh. anyways yeah so this took a while. i wokring on quite a lot of fics atm so!! be patient please.  
> also a lot of shit has happened since i last updated but i think the most important one is ive started dating someone! he's pretty fuckin cool so this chapter is dedicated to him. he's the one who made the fanart for the cover that is now in chapter one of this very fic!!! talent i tell ya.  
> thanks <3  
> *also thank you to the two people who proof read this and told me if it sucked yesterday lmao*  
> (want to talk to me? my tumblr is @FeederMercury)
> 
> Title:  
> Still Feel by halfalive

Brian was resting his head on Roger’s lap, sleeping away the day with contentment that the blonde loved to see. He needed the rest. Roger could tell he was still feeling a bit unsettled from his recent weeks and it was better to sleep it off than remain awake when he was so drained.

They had been watching television after breakfast and that was when he’d mumbled something about taking a ten-minute nap, asking to be woken soon, but Roger just let him sleep.

It wasn’t too long before the door clicked open and Peach, donned in her nurses uniform with her keycard dangling from her neck, stepped inside with a sunny smile to greet her friend and her guest.

“Hey,” Roger whispered. He gently picked up Brian’s head and placed it back on the sofa with a pillow taking place where his thighs were. “How was work?”

“Good, I had to change bedpans all bloody day,” She smiled with wide eyes and nodded. “You?”

“Really good, actually. I got Brian a shave and we had a nice time together,” He looked away, back into the living room just behind them and she pursed her lips dubiously. 

“That’s all that happened?”

He raised his eyebrows flirtatiously and sank his teeth into his bottom lip. “Maybe we fooled around for a little while.”

“Oh, god,” Peach grimaced. “Did you at least clean up after?”

“No, oh! We didn’t fuck, Peach. We just kissed.”

“Oh really? So, you two are back together?”

He hadn’t really thought of that. Were they? It surely felt like they were. They said their pieces and snuggled on the sofa being romantic and gross, so it made sense. He nodded with a warmth creeping up to his cheeks. “I think so.”

“Can you trust him?” Peach asked in a low tone. She went to the kitchen and set her purse down, the keys clinking messily against her neck.

“I can. He isn’t Tim, and he wouldn’t cheat again.”

Olive greens matched his icy blues and he self consciously loosened his shoulders.

“If you say you can trust him, and you mean it, then I’m happy for you. I would be heartbroken if he did what he did again, or God forbid, treats you like Tim did.”

“Brian has never done anything like him. He wouldn’t.”

Roger seemed awfully defensive so Peach planted a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, if you tell me he wouldn’t then he won’t. I trust you, and if you trust him then I do too. I just don’t want a repeat of last time,” She gestured over to Brian who was still on the sofa.

The last time she was referring to made his spine shiver. It hadn’t been but three years since he’d last seen Tim, and it was only months before the arm breaking incident. 

Roger had wanted to stay at Peaches house while Tim’s apartment had a party going on in it and the pair were both high, Roger on coke and Tim on everything he could get his hands on. She wasn’t going to say no, especially when she saw how big Roger’s pupils were and he refused to say what he’d taken with the excuse of, “ _Oh, nothing new, nothing new,_ ” though that was only his third time using cocaine. It wasn’t even his choice. Tim wanted him to so he could stop moping.

Back then there was a different couch and a different carpet. Peach wanted Roger to stay in her room with her but Tim refused to allow him to be with her, telling her that he didn’t want her doing anything weird to Roger while he was vulnerable. 

But those times were different. His partner was different in every way. While Tim would cheat and tell him to his face to get the reaction, Brian only did it once and was remorseful.

He didn’t get off to the idea of Roger crying and being upset, and he certainly didn’t make Roger sick with anxiety and chilled to the bone every time he was in the room.

Now, Roger smiled and enclosed his arms around his friend's neck who smiled back and kissed him on the cheek. 

“So, while we’re on the topic of trust, I have to talk to you about the last time we saw each other,” Roger said with hesitation thick in his voice. Peach didn’t move from his arms, she simply raised her brow and shifted her weight to her other foot, ready for whatever he was about to say. “Uh, do you remember that rehab?”

She pursed her lips. “Of course I do.”

“Well, I-“

“Didn’t go.”

Roger blinked. His mind blanked and he furrowed his brow in confusion, arms sliding off of her shoulders. 

“Do you think they don’t call someone when a patient doesn’t show up to rehab?” Honestly, Roger hasn’t even thought of that. “I almost had a heart attack when I got that phone call, Rog. It’s been a while, though. I’m just glad you’re alive.”

“I went to a homeless shelter, I didn’t go back to it if you think that,” He informed her wearily. “I didn’t, you know, go back to all that stuff.”

That was halfway truthful. Perhaps maybe even a quarter truthful. Maybe not even at all, really.

A month before his suicide attempt he’d thought most of it out and decided since he’d be too dead to care about addiction, he would pop as many pills and drink whatever and however much he fancied. It was a blur of a month, he hardly remembers moving into the apartment he lived at the night he recorded his suicide note. 

The thought of ‘ _what if you overdose?_ ’ darted into his mind that month but he didn’t really care if he did or not. Sure, the bridge sounded like a better way, but if he unexpectedly overdosed or got hit by a car or got stabbed at a supermarket that would have been fine too.

Lying to Peach was better for both of them these days. She didn’t need to know everything, it would hurt her. It was second nature by now.

“I don’t care about pills or booze, Rog,” She said with a firm, quiet voice that got quieter as she spoke. “You know what I’m talking about. What about that?”

Roger inhaled deeply and looked away from her, his shoulders attempting to connect behind his back with the tension aching them. “I never did that again.”

“It would be okay-”

“Peach I never did that again, okay? We’re not talking about this, Brian is right there,” He motioned to Brian and spoke before she could think of continuing, “I don’t care if he’s asleep. End of story.”

He felt like a complete dick upon seeing the hurt expression covering her pale features. He didn’t have to say anything, he could have just said no and told her to stop talking about it, but he had to be a prat. He pressed himself against the kitchen counter and placed his hand against the side of his face, adding pressure the longer they sat in silence.

“Sorry,” He spoke coldly. “I just don’t want to talk about that. Brian doesn’t know and it’s gonna stay like that.”

Peach crossed her arms and nodded. “I understand, I wouldn’t want him to know either. How much does he not know about, exactly?”

“Doesn’t matter. He worries too much anyway, I don’t need to add to the list.”

She shrugged and put her hands on his hips, running her fingers over the soft flesh with a hint of a smile. “We don’t have to talk about that. You wanna help me make breakfast?”

He nodded and moved forward when Peach stepped backwards and continued until they were in front of the stove. 

“What does Brian like?” She asked, stepping to the fridge and leaving Roger to stand in front of the oven. 

“Uh, I don’t know. Not meat.”

“I’ve known the man for two days and I know that. Is he a vegan?”

Brian himself answered the question himself when he padded into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Roger’s waist with a kiss to his lips being gifted. “Not a vegan.” 

“Okay, not a vegan. Good morning, by the way,” Peach smiled then gave a wink to the both of them when Roger kissed what he could currently reach on his boyfriend which was his upper chest. It hurt, the spots of the break-out on his chest and back hadn’t quite calmed and he was sure they were from stress on top of the issue of cleanliness in the past weeks, but he wasn’t going to tell Roger that. It wasn't exactly the proudest thing he'd ever done and the very idea made a blush slither over his entire body.

“Actually,” Peach said, twirling around with a flirtatious grin spread across her face. “How about you two go out? Like a little date.”

Brian laughed and put his hands on Roger’s face. “Were you too excited not to tell her about us, hm?”

“Maybe it was the fact I just kissed you that said something,” Roger hummed with another kiss to his chest, and an over-exaggerated ‘ _mwah_ ’ to added to it.

“You’d be okay if we went out?” Brian asked, a hand sneaking around Roger’s waist. Peach waved her hand and nodded.

“Of course, I was the one who suggested it in the first place. I just _have_ to get some rest,” The ginger made her point by stretching up her lapel and wave her hospital ID badge to show off the reason why she was so exhausted.

The men agreed and together they decided where they would want to go. 

Roger had lived in the area for quite some time now so he knew where things were, but Brian pushed the places he knew were near the bridge away from his interest. If he noticed, he didn’t mention it.

There was a breakfast diner near the apartment complex, so they decided to go there. It was good because it was completely away from the view from the balcony.

The energy in the car was different this time. Every time he had been in the car previously it had been tense and depressing, but now Roger’s leg bounced in excitement and he had a grin plastered to his face so bright that Brian couldn’t help but reciprocate even if he didn’t feel his best at the moment. 

Cracks that had seemingly begun to chip away showed a beam of light, something that Roger used to radiate so beautifully, inside of him and all Brian wanted to do was bask in the luminescence of the loving glow. He would take every advantage of the light even if it lasted mere moments and was confined to the car.

The restaurant was large and noisy, the ideal place for Roger to be himself and get as little attention as possible. Brian bounced off his energy and met the enthusiasm he illustrated.

They had chosen a booth in the farthest back area of the diner and therefore Roger was completely hidden from any view. He made himself comfortable and sat his back against the window instead of properly and politely sitting straight. A leg was perched up in front of him and the other dangled off of the seat. 

For breakfast, Roger ordered double chocolate chip pancakes and a cup of coffee that he must have added about ten sugars to before he deemed it sweet enough. By his first sip, he was bouncing in his seat.

Brian adored the rosiness of his cheeks and the wideness of his eyes behind the sunglasses he’d kept on even inside of the building, shielding him from the sun invading right where they were sitting. He loved seeing him eat without it being a chore and drinking caffeine not because he didn’t want to sleep but because he wanted the taste for his breakfast.

Brian, not-so similarly, got eggs and some hash browns to which Roger rolled his eyes for ‘being boring’ apparently. 

Now they sat together, eating their breakfast and sharing Roger’s overly sweet coffee, because the sugar would be too much for him to handle alone, and just enjoyed each other’s company.

“If you get a stomachache,” Brian warned with a smile, pointing to Roger’s breakfast. “It’s on you.”

Roger, arrogant as ever, stuffed a massive bite into his mouth until his cheeks puffed out. “I’m gonna enjoy my breakfast, you enjoy yours. Don’t judge me!”

He put his hands up defensively. “Hey, I’m not judging anyone. I’m just saying-“

Another massive bite followed by a sip of coffee. 

“Wow, you’re a braver man than me, Rog.”

Roger, not having chewed, coughed a little and coffee came up. Brian handed him a napkin quickly and laughed behind his hand and when Roger wasn’t choking on double chocolate pancakes and coffee, he laughed too.

“So, anyway, what were you and Peach talking about earlier?”

Roger furrowed his brow and ran the napkin over his mouth. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard my name. Earlier, when I was sleeping.”

“Didn’t really seem like you were asleep if you heard us talking.”

Brian frowned and put his hands up defensively. “I’m not trying to start anything, I’m just asking.”

Roger shrugged. “I was just talking about yesterday. She wanted to know what we got up to, how we ended up cuddling on the sofa.”

“Oh, okay,” Brian said despite knowing full and well Roger wasn’t really telling the truth. He wouldn’t have been so defensive otherwise. “That makes sense.”

Roger almost went completely back to his excitement and bounciness and Brian made sure not to mention the details he’d heard. He wanted to see if Roger would keep things from him, like always, and he did. So he was going to drop it. There was no use in starting a fight when they were both in high spirits.

Whatever Roger didn’t want him to know, he didn’t have to know. Trust, that’s what it was, and Roger was an adult who could be trusted with things, even if it made Brian a little worried.

No more imprisoning his best friend, now boyfriend, within his self-made rules for him. 

“When are we going home?” Roger asked through a bite of food. His tongue swept over his lips and widened his eyes expectantly.

“Whenever you’d like.”

“Good,” He said. “I fucking hate this place.”

“Even Peaches house?”

“No, never Peaches house,” He said it with hesitation though, like his head was clouded with a thought he wasn’t sharing. Another lie came easily; “Nothing’s ever wrong at Peaches house.”

With an air of finality, he tapped his fork against his plate and shrugged. “I’m sure Freddie and John aren’t big fans of me, though.”

“Wait, what? They love you, Rog, what are you talking about?”

“I don’t know, I was a cunt last time I saw them. They probably don’t want to see me again.”

Brian put a hand out for his lover to take but Roger resumed scraping the silverware against his plate, opting to ignore the gesture.

“Listen, you always think that. You thought that when you left the first time, this isn't different.”

“But I fucking broke your nose. How are they not mad about that?”

“I mean,” Brian answered, sitting back. “You did, but they didn’t say anything cross about you when we were alone.”

Roger crossed his arms. “They probably didn’t want to upset you.”

“Or, they like you a lot and just want the best for you.”

Brian smiled warmly and Roger gave a compression of a smile back. He pushed his plate away, having lost his appetite and also having that stomach ache come that Brian warned him of.

“So, if I go home soon, they won’t hate me?”

“They won’t hate you.”

“Even a little…?”

“Not even a little.”

Roger smiled and tapped his fingers on the table. “Can we go home tomorrow?”

Brian took his hand and ran his thumb over the top of the bones. “We can go home tomorrow. We should wait until Peach gets home from work, though, so I can thank her for being so polite and letting me stay.”

“She doesn’t hate you anymore.”

“Well, good to know she hated me.” He smiled and rolled his eyes when Roger kicked him under the table.

With the mood simmering down from the slight intensity that had just been heating up between them, they finished their food and went outside after paying. Roger took another coffee in a to-go cup, though this one much less heart-attack inducingly sweet, and together they sat on the curb just in front of Brian’s car.

The cigarette that Roger was chewing the end of was more than enticing to Brian who was eyeing it curiously. He wasn’t exactly used to longing for such a thing, so this was odd. He’d had cravings for things like alcohol or, more normally, food but a cigarette would normally disgust him even with the smell near him.

“What the hell are you staring at, Bri?” Roger asked suddenly with a laugh.

“Sorry,” Brian said wearily as he shook himself a little to perhaps get rid of the thought. “Didn’t mean to.”

Roger squinted and held out the crimson pack to his boyfriend who side-eyed it. When he reached for one of the offered smokes, he yanked it with a shocked gasp. “You like it!” Roger shouted with an accusatory point of the finger. “Smokey the bear judges you.”

Brian blinked. “You’re smoking right now.”

“He’s also a cartoon bear.”

Brian rolled his eyes and put his hand out again. This time Roger handed him his half-way smoked cigarette and crossed his arms. “You’re gonna be thrown out if Freddie and John see you like that. They’ll probably blame me!”

“They won’t blame you because I won’t tell them.”

Roger raised a suspicious eyebrow.

“They’re not my parents, Roger. I don’t have to tell them everything I do.”

He shrugged with a sigh. “They’ll just be worried if you keep going, that’s all.”

Brian brought the cigarette to his lips hesitantly and inhaled sharply. Roger said the friends of theirs would be worried, but he knew it would be his own worry and self-blame that would bother him if the habit became permanent. “I won’t keep going, it’s just for today.”

“You sound like me every day.”

“Well, I haven’t done it for as long as you.”

Roger made a fake stabbing motion and even went as far as to keen before popping right back up. “Your words hurt me, Bri. It’s cruel.”

Brian pushed him and beamed. “Shut up, it’s true.”

Roger lit another smoke and they sat in the comfortable silence until Brian’s arm was being taken and his shirt was being pulled from the collar. At first, he thought Roger was attempting to get a kiss or hug, but he pulled away gently in confusion when Roger’s fingers brushed over the red and white spots littering the brunettes collar bones.

Now he actually tugged away with enough force to break from the touch. Roger didn’t keep his grip but he did move his hand away to Brian’s shoulder where he rubbed his back over the shirt.

“What’s all that about?” Roger asked unhappily.

“Nothing, just a breakout.”

“On your chest? And back?”

Brian shrugged which made Roger frown. “Really, Rog. It’s just a breakout.”

“You said we had to be honest with each other from now on.”

Roger could be so annoying. Especially when he was right. He rolled his head over his shoulders and groaned, knowing exactly what he said and how he meant it. It didn’t just mean Roger being honest, it meant both of them.

“It’s from not really taking care of myself,” He admitted heavily, avoiding Roger’s gaze. “I just wasn’t thinking of it.”

A gentle hand landed on Brian’s thigh. “Why not?”

Brian thought it would be quite obvious but he didn’t want Roger to feel as if it was his fault; he had enough to deal with already. “Just got caught up in my head is all.”

“So you didn’t take care of yourself. Didn’t shave either. Are you feeling better now?”

He hadn’t exactly had time to think of himself through this. He was too low to even bathe a week ago but their small discussion had helped quite a bit. However, that conversation hadn’t exactly cured his depressive episode no matter how much he wanted it to. He still didn’t feel like himself really, and the smoking didn’t help.

“Not really.”

Roger was surprised to hear that. He was expecting Brian to make excuses and things like that, but he was real with him. In return, Roger said; “I don’t feel good either.”

He took his lover’s hand and squeezed it gently. “Well, we can both get through this. It’ll be alright.”

Roger smiled at him and put his head on his shoulder. A comforting kiss was pressed to his head and Brian went as far as to squeeze his head to his cheek.

“It’ll be alright.”


	21. Nowhere Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Nowhere Man by The Beatles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i really like this chapter and i feel like ive had a huge writing block recently thats been un-blocked with this chaper so im really happy with this one :)

A party was raging on the other side of closed doors but the celebrations were ignored for a bottle of wine shared between friends.

The lights were low and Christmas lights instead illuminated the room with a low green glow that made Roger’s head swim.

He laid, face to face on his side with Peach, and stared down at her with eyes sinking from the alcohol sedating him into peace. Peach had a similar look on her pale features where freckles sprayed her nose and cheeks that lasted until where her body ended.

Her body was showing through short clothing; a crop top that ended just below her rib cage and a pair of shorts that were undone and unzipped with her underwear just below, hardly able to be seen.

The green glow made her light ginger eyebrows seem to fade into her features that were stripped of the heavy party makeup she’d donned for only an hour earlier in the night.

With his hand around the neck of the bottle, Roger brought the drink up to his mouth but hesitated to take a sip. “You’re sure you don’t want to go back out?”

“I’m okay here,” She inched closer to her friend’s warm body. Now close enough that the freckles had a glow of pink underneath that he could see. “Are you?”

“I’m okay.” Roger smiled. He finally took a drink from the bottle and once he was done, he handed it back to the woman ahead of him who was now closer.

Peach turned on her side and left the bottle of wine on the bedside table by her bed.

They were nose to nose when she turned back. An air of affection wafted through the poorly-lit bedroom but neither acted on the emotion until after a knee brushed over the un-done jeans Roger was wearing.

Their lips met and Peach brought her hand to the zipper on his trousers. He pushed forward and allowed her to slip her hand inside of the pants just above his underwear.

“Woah,” Roger whispered, breaking the kiss suddenly and therefore with the realization making Peach pause her venture. “Wait, wait.”

“What’s wrong?” She asked in concern.

“I-uh,” He breathlessly laughed and sat up with his legs crossed. “I’m hammered, Peach. I, um, don’t really-”

“Oh my god,” She suddenly said, shooting up. “I’m so sorry.”

He turned around and saw his friend, bright red and holding her hands over her mouth in guilt. “I'm sorry too, I just don’t really like you like that.”

“No, no, of course not! I don’t like you like that either!” Peach shouted. “Oh my god, Rog, I’m so sorry.”

Roger snorted in a failed attempt to stifle a laugh. “I’m sure if I was, you know, straight, I would totally go for you but I’m just a tad bit gay.”

Peach took his hand and pat it with a wide smile. “Oh my lord, I’m so embarrassed.”

“Ah, it happens. I’m irresistible. I, you know, kissed you back so you shouldn't be the one apologizing. You're fine. Good kisser, at least.”

They exchanged glances and broke into cheerful laughter. They both collapsed onto the bed, shoulders bumping as they fell back onto the sheets. Roger’s hand intertwined with Peaches and they squeezed one another’s hands as hard as they could until Roger finally had to pull away with a wince, leaving Peach to wallow in her victory while her hand throbbed.

“I won’t tell anyone we kissed,” Roger said, suddenly so serious but without looking at her directly. “You know?”

“Oh,” She said with the realization. “I wasn’t going to tell him, Rog.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Roger held up his hand and raised his pinky finger with his brows lowering in concern. Without missing a beat, she linked her own finger around his and shook their intertwined hands, making the promise officially binding.

Peach inhaled with her eyes shifting downward. “You know Tim’s not exactly-”

“I know, Peach,” He raised a hand to her chin and brushed his fingers over the skin. “He’s getting better, though. He’s trying.”

That wasn’t true in the slightest form of the word. They both knew it, yet Roger said it with such sincerity that Peach nearly believed him for what had to be the millionth time he’d said it. 

Her expression must have given her away because abruptly Roger was shifting uncomfortably and crossing his gaze back and forth. 

“I know you don’t like him or trust him, or whatever. I’m well aware. I really do love him, isn’t that enough?”

“Not when he treats you like something to throw around.”

Roger frowned and flattened into the bed with his disappointment clearly shown in both his expression and body language. “Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

Peach sighed heavily. “You aren’t happy.”

“I’m alright,” He said. “I’ve been better but…”

“How can you be alright when you’re constantly in my waiting room with bloody noses and bruises? You aren't that clumsy, Rog. Not to mention,” She hesitated greatly with shame. “Not to mention he bloody sells you off like you aren't even a person.”

“We did that once, and it was my idea.”

She buried her face in her hands. “Roger, you know that isn’t true.”

“Not all of us can afford rent from our jobs at a hospital. You do what you can. I don’t want to talk about this.” He rolled his eyes, silencing himself despite having much more to say.

Peach didn’t have much else to say. She knew anything he could possibly have to say would fall on deaf ears, so she took the bottle of wine and held it out for Roger to take. He did, and he finished the bottle.

“You know,” He told, raising the empty bottle and changing the topic. “My ex, the one I lived with, you remind me of him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s his name again?”

Roger smiled knowingly. “Brian.”

She smiled too. “What reminds you of him? About me, that is?”

“You both’re so bloody headstrong it’s annoying.”

Peach propped herself up on her elbow and gestured to take the bottle but Roger kept it in his hands. “What would Brian say about Tim?”

His expression softened and he laid down with his head shifting into the pillow thoughtfully. “Dunno,” He said despite the fact he knew what Brian would likely say. “I don’t want to talk about Brian anymore.”

Tim returned for Roger later in the night. 

He had been asleep for only a moment when the next thing he knew he was being pulled out of bed with a reprimanding for sleeping in the same bed as his friend, even with Roger’s excuse that they weren’t doing anything but talking.

He wasn't even close to telling him that he'd kissed her, and slightly fancied it as it had something loving and genuine to it, but the guilt ate him away until he was forced to. It didn't end well.

Peach didn’t wake up when he was pulled out of the bedroom and out of the apartment, but he wishes she had. 

They were in a similar situation now, though Brian was instead the one sleeping outside of the bedroom and there was no party in sight. A bottle of booze was instead a bottle of apple cider, the bottle shape similar to the one before.

The room was fully illuminated from the over-head light that creaked with the power of the ceiling fan and both of the friends had grins spread across their cheeks.

Cat sat in front of Roger’s lap and a gentle hand stroked across his back with a loving slowness. 

“What’s the grossest thing you’ve ever seen at the hospital?” Roger asked with wide eyes.

“Oh god,” Peach responded. “Uh, let me think.”

She sat back in thought and looked to the ceiling before she pulled a wince and groaned with the thought. “Probably when I got someone who stuck a light bulb up his arse. It’s not as uncommon as you’d think, actually.”

Roger first was surprised then nodded his head. “I get it.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

He put his hands up in a shrug. “I just get it.”

“If you ever,” She warned. “Show up to my hospital and tell me you’ve put a lightbulb up your bum, I’ll put you on and take you off of life support.”

“Promise?”

Peach slapped him over the head and he laughed with his arms going up to defend himself. Roger took the bottle and took a drink, wincing. “It tastes like old apples.”

She took it from him defensively but he snatched it back only to give it to the cat who sniffed at it curiously but decided against tasting it. 

“See?” Roger said. “Even Cat doesn’t like it.”

“Well, you see, he's a bloody cat.”

“He can have opinions! I bet he would be apart of the green party. Right, Cat?”

They both looked down at Cat for a response of his political choices but he didn’t give either of them the time of day. He simply kept doing what he did, which was laid there and look irritated.

Roger picked up the cat, who certainly didn’t want this, and shook him around until his bottom half wiggled back and forth. “Stinky cat, angry.”

“He is angry!” Peach agreed, poking him in the soft belly. “Always so grumpy. Bastard, or Mr.Grumps, should be his name. Why didn’t you ever name him something else?”

Roger shrugged and continued to wiggle the cat. “I didn’t think I'd have him for that long and I didn’t want to get attached.”

Peach took him from Roger’s hands and placed him in her lap. He, very aggressively, sat down and made sure he showed that he wasn’t enjoying himself by flicking his tail. 

“We should name him something else. He doesn’t even respond to Cat.”

“You wanna choose?”

“Your cat technically, Rog. You choose.”

He thoughtfully inspected the cat. The way he looked, it kind of reminded him of a friend. “I think we should call him Freddie.”

She nodded and stroked the cats face. “That’s a good name.”

“Yeah,” Roger confirmed. “Freddie’s a friend of mine. Brian’s friend, really.”

“Well he suits the name.”

They both smiled at each other and continued to bother the cat, now named Freddie.

The only sounds in the room were from outside of the bedroom where the television was left on and Brian was snoring quite loudly. 

The sun had begun to rise slowly over the horizon, perfectly in view for the window. From the view of the purple, orange, and pink sky, the bridge didn’t look so scary as it had in the coldness of the night. 

Roger now stood by the window, holding Freddie in his arms like a baby, and smiled as he looked over the ridges and lights still shining on the edges of the bridge.

“It’s not so bad when it’s morning,” Roger commented, though his mind was far away. “Not nearly as scary. I like mornings like these. I used to be a night person, but God the morning is so much better these days.”

Peach joined him but remained silent.

Roger pointed near the end of the metal structure. “Right there was where I was,” He moved his finger down. “Just like that. I think there’s a fence now, a bigger one. It’s kind of cool to know I was the one who made that get built so no one else would do it.”

She remained quiet, though she showed she was listening by running a hand over his back.

“I think, honestly if I was desperate I would still jump. I would climb the fence. I don’t think I would right now though.”

“Not right now?”

“No, not right now. It’s been alright recently. You know what I mean?”

Peach smiled up at him and kissed him on the jaw. “I do. You deserve it.”

For a moment, Roger doubted he did. Did he deserve the happiness? And the love he was receiving? In another moment, he agreed. He deserved good things. Better things. The love. 

“I do deserve it,” Roger nodded in agreement. He sloped a hand around Peaches waist. “And I’m gonna miss you. I’m sorry I didn’t visit-“

“Oh, no,” Peach said simply. “Don’t feel bad. And, I know you feel poorly about the rehab thing. It’s okay. Knowing you’re okay, even with the circumstances, is all I need.”

“I know you forgive me, but I was such a fucking dick to you. I’m really sorry. I should have been honest with you then.”

“Listen, I don’t have anything against you. You were different then. What you’re doing is really brave, Roger. I’m really proud of you.”

Roger frowned and shifted his weight onto his other foot. “I don’t feel very brave. I jumped off a bridge, I wasn’t even sober. If I hadn't had Brian as my emergency contact, I probably would have overdosed as soon as I was out of the hospital. Maybe follow what my sister did. It isn’t brave, it’s pathetic.”

“No, you misunderstand,” She said. “Your bravery isn’t from the fact you jumped off of a bridge, it’s because you’re not going to do it again. You  _ didn’t  _ go back to drugs and alcohol when you got out, you didn’t go back to the bridge, and you’re trying to better yourself. The fact you’re standing in front of me is a bloody act of bravery. The fact you’re choosing life after everything you’ve been through is brave.”

He’s never thought of it that way. He only noticed the tears welling in his eyes when he blinked and felt the wetness flood his eyes.

“Oh,” Roger’s voice broke. “I guess so.”

“Well, it’s hard to know right now but in the future you’ll understand. I’ll visit you too, so you have to be there when I come, okay?”

Roger nodded but she shook her head. She then held out her pinky finger and smiled.

“Promise?”

Roger grinned and wrapped his own finger around hers. “I promise.”

She squeezed her finger tight around his. “You swear? You can’t break this promise, you know!”

“Ow, okay, fuck, I promise!”

“And you know you can always call me if you need someone to talk to?”

“I know.”

She squinted and Roger nodded vigorously to prove his point. 

“So,” Roger asked hesitantly. “Did you mean what you said? About it, you know, being brave?”

Peach nodded. “Of course I do.”

Interesting.

He looked back out the window and imagined how his future could look. 

Peach could visit every week if she wanted, he and Brian could move, Freddie and John could move near them or even with them, and he could just live. Really live. Properly this time.

The sun had risen when Roger finally went back into the living room to catch an hour or two of sleep before Brian woke up. When he went to the living room, attempting to be silent as a mouse, he saw his boyfriend stretched across the sofa with his shirt off and only his boxers to cover him. 

The pants he’d taken off were thrown across the top of the sofa lazily and his shirt was nowhere to be seen.

The flesh stretching over his thin chest was red and inflamed with sore-like spots speckling his skin, but it had gotten better from the day previously when Roger had yanked his shirt down from the collar to see what was on his torso. 

With the small movements he made in his sleep the blanket covering half of his body rubbed against his nude torso and he winced even in his unconscious state. His back wasn’t any better, so Roger couldn't imagine how it felt at the moment to be on the sofa so uncomfortably in pain.

It hurt to see him in pain, and it caused a shockwave of guilt to run through him when his brain reminded him how he’d caused the other cause of his pain in his broken nose which in itself was still heavily bruised and painful for him.

He rounded the sofa and gently rocked his shoulder. He moved a little and opened his eyes to see Roger sitting above him with a smile. He smiled back a little, still asleep mostly, and moved to make room on the couch.

“No, no, c’mere,” Roger waved up and Brian sat forward. The blonde sat on the sofa at the end with his back on the arm and Brian laid back down into his lap, head resting on Roger’s chest. “How are you feeling? Are you hurting?”

Brian nodded. “Mmm, only a little. Um, not that much. Did you sleep?”

“Not yet. Me and Peach were talking. We can take a shower in the morning if it won’t hurt too bad, mkay?”

Brian nodded and after just a moment he fell back asleep. Mouth open and hand practically down the front of his underwear.

Despite the view that would normally be deemed funny or unattractive, Roger smiled with genuine love and affection for the sight in front of him. Brian looked so beautiful in the glow of the morning sun flooding through the blinds, even if he was drooling a little.

And all the while Roger looked at his boyfriend, he could only think about how badly he wanted to see every other sunrise he could with him. How desperately he needed to grow old with him. 

He needed to, and he wanted to work to get there and heal enough to be okay with truly living in any way that he could. 

Just to be okay with  _ living _ .

He wanted to get there, even if it was just for a pinky promise made between friends or to see another sunset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comment, and share with your friends <3


	22. Love My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger and Brian leave Peaches house and return home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song: Love My Way by The Psychedelic Furs  
> Warning: Graphic smut ahead
> 
> also yall should be real scared for what i have planned for the next few chapters :)  
> Take special attention to what’s said in this chapter because it’ll come back later. This chapter is the beginning of a ... thing that’s happening soon

Saying goodbye to Peaches was different this time.

This time he wasn’t anxiously being driven into a rehab facility with nausea overtaking him and his body shaking with fear. This time he was smiling, a hand wrapped around his best friends neck and watching her smile back.

No one was sad, or anxious, or angry. They were just existing, saying a goodbye that wouldn’t last years. 

“I’m gonna miss you!” Peach squealed, hugging Roger’s arm as she stood in the hallway of her apartment.

Roger smiled and wrinkled his nose as he leaned in for another hug that he was given without hesitation. “I’ll see you in a few weeks, okay? I’ll come and visit or you can come down to Brian’s. Like a sleepover?”

“Like a sleepover. We can gossip and talk about boys.”

They both looked at Brian and he furrowed his brows with a laugh that was mostly confusion.

Focusing his attention back on his friend, Roger kissed her and squeezed her head for extra affection points which she giggled about while they were still kissing. 

“Mkay, you two go!” She said with a wave and a smack on Roger's bum that made him jump. “I’ll see you next time.”

“Next time," Roger confirmed happily.

Brian waved and Peach waved back. Roger joined his hand with Brian’s and they walked down the hall from Peaches apartment, a sense of ease coming over them instead of what Roger expected to be sadness.

In the elevator, he knew it would be good to see her again soon, even if he had to go now. It wouldn’t be like last time. Their next time would be opening the door for her or, more likely, rushing outside to catch her opening her car door to scoop her into a hug that would last too long yet too short.

“How’re you doing?” Brian asked once they'd made it outside. The clouds parted made a glint over the dried blood still caked to the bridge of his nose but Roger opted to ignore it, lest Brian feel self-conscious or be reminded how he got the fractured bone.

“I’m doing good actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Roger agreed with a smile. A genuine one, which made Brian smile too.

On the way to the motel room, in which Brian’s car was still at, they held hands and the sun finally came out after days of rain and storms. The car was exactly where he’d left if just as expected, basically what everyone who owned a car would hope anyway. His things were in the back and once they were situated, they were ready to leave.

“Do you have everything?” Brian asked as he looked over himself and the car to make sure he himself had everything. “Phone, clothes, uh, whatever else you took? Backpack?”

“I have my backpack. No phone.” He replied falteringly.

“Shit, did you leave it?”

“I broke it.”

Brian was obviously confused. “When I left, I broke it. I didn’t want you to try and call me.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry about that.”

Brian shrugged despite the fact he was somewhat hurt. He did understand, and he obviously did things that hurt Roger too. It was even.

“Well,” He said definitively. “We can get you a new one when we can. You can use mine for now.”

Roger squeezed his thigh with an apologetic smile. It was forgiven and forgotten about, which was a relief because the guilt was a bit much all this time. Roger was really the king of over-reacting.

Now driving, Roger was calm. He had been scared, terrified even, when they’d gone through the city days ago. He didn’t look up then but now he was looking around with a smile. He was glad they decided to leave now because honestly Brian was concerned he would panic if they hadn’t talked about their issues and cooled down the tension between them and the weeks before. Though, when they had to return home, the bridge was unavoidable and that very fact became clear when the green light ahead of them turned red and the structure was just out of view.

Brian, upon realizing, put a hand out to Roger’s lap and he immediately took it with a tight squeeze containing it. 

“I’ll be okay,” Roger said before Brian could think of something to say. 

“You’re sure?”

“I promise.”

Promises were so much more believable now coming from his lips. It was the truth and he had no doubt he meant what he said. When Brian began driving again, Roger ducked his head and closed his eyes. None of the windows were rolled down and the sound of the bridge crunching beneath their tires didn’t bother him nearly as much as he thought it would; it was just like a dirt road if he thought hard enough.

When they were most likely in the halfway mark of the bridge, Brian turned the music up and pat Roger on the thigh but the gesture fell flat when he instead jumped in a reaction. So, instead of helping physically, he just kept to himself and let the car go over the crest of the bridge until they were finally back to regular pavement. 

Roger knew as soon as they were off, but his gaze turned to the rearview mirror. Just as he’d thought, there was a new safety fence attached to the railing. He was going to mention it, but Brian must have noticed where his eyes were because he quickly turned the mirror downward to cut his view.

The drive would be much longer than a train ride that Roger had taken alone the way here. Instead of the two-hour ride, it was instead four and most of them were spent in silence. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, however, it was upbeat and comfortable. They listened to music and talked and ate gas station food that Brian picked out when they stopped for gas. 

Once they were near their house, Roger’s entire attitude changed and suddenly he was on edge.

He would look out the window over and over, touch Brian’s thigh, and jitter with anxiety that Brian simply didn’t understand until he suddenly said; “Can we go somewhere for a little while? Do we need to go to the store? Or maybe go get some food?”

With confusion, Brian asked; “Woah, why are you being weird?” Which didn’t sit well with the blonde sitting just next to him.

“I’m not being weird.” A bite in his voice evident.

“Well, you’re acting strangely. Why can’t we go home?”

Roger huffed with his eyes straining to his lap. “I don’t want to see them.”

“ _Them_ meaning,” Brian said, his voice lowering. “Freddie and John?”

Roger’s silence was a good enough answer. 

“Rog, come on, talk to me.”

Frustrated, he put his foot up on the dash where he bounced the heel up and down to calm himself down. “I don’t want them to be pissed off at me.”

Brian frowned and pulled the car over to stop himself from going ahead and driving home from his brain switching to auto-pilot. “We talked about this.”

“I don’t care. It doesn’t change anything, they’re gonna be pissed.”

“They won’t.”

“Fucking hell, Brian,” He kicked his shoe against the dashboard with a thud filling the silent car. “Can you just try and see this from my side?”

With a long sigh, Brian nodded. He did understand, he’s had the same feelings with both of his friends too many times to count and he could imagine his feelings at the moment.

“Okay,” He said as he turned the car on. “We’ll do what you want. I can text Fred or John and say we’re doing something.”

Roger lowered from the knowing tone in Brian's voice. It was very parental and he didn’t like anything about that even if it helped him calm down from the fit that Brian probably knew was going to arise. “No, let's go home.”

“Are you s-“

“Go before I change my mind.”

Brian smiled with his victory and they started off to their house.

It was past evening when they eventually pulled into the familiar driveway. The blanket of darkened skies covered them but the headlights gave them away and moments after Brian was getting the car turned off, John stepped out followed by Freddie. The pair were smiling and Freddie was wearing an apron.

The anxiety still prickled the undersides of Roger’s skin just below the ribs when he saw them, even if they looked happy. They couldn’t be when they saw him in the passenger seat. He was mean to Brian, had been for months. It didn’t matter what Brian said because he wasn’t them.

“Well?” Brian asked expectantly.

Well, what? What did he want? Roger thought these things as he stepped out of the car and pulled his backpack close to his chest so no one could have the opportunity of hugging him. Freddie obviously didn’t care what Roger wanted or didn’t because as soon as he was close enough, he was yanked in for a hug.

“Oh, your hair,” Freddie commented with his fingers tugging through the short blonde hair cropped above his ears but down below his neck. “It’s short now!”

“Uh-huh. It’s short now.”

Despite the more than lack-lustre response, Freddie beamed and squeezed his neck. “I missed you. John did too, of course. John?”

John smiled, his hands tucked into his pockets, and stepped forward with an affectionate, and less aggressive gesture, pat on the back.

“Okay,” Freddie announced when Brian stepped into the home without them. “I didn’t make dinner for just me and Deaky, so let’s go and quit all this small talk.”

It could hardly be considered talk, Roger thought, as he stepped inside.

The home was exactly as he’d left it, save for the tension and Brian’s blood dripping from the countertop. And the fact he walked in and not out. It also smelled like soup, something that had to have garlic in it based on the fact that the smell was overwhelming; it was so potent in the home that it felt like he'd already eaten it.

Brian was sat by the stove where a pot was steaming and he had a long wooden spoon he was poking in and out of the liquid with a confused expression. When Freddie saw him, he went straight to the brunette and smacked him over the head before taking the spoon away from him with little effort.

“Don’t fuck it up, you poodle!” Freddie shouted, shooing Brian away.

“Is it ready?” Brian asked once he was around the counter.

“Yes, Brian, you impatient ass. It is ready.”

John shifted his attention to Roger who was awkwardly standing by the door with his backpack still on. “You okay?”

Roger blinked but realized that John was indeed speaking to him. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I spaced out.”

“Maybe. How is your friend? Her name is Peaches?”

Roger nodded. His grip on his backpack loosened and he set it down near the bathroom in front of the stairs. “Peach was good- is good. How’s it going for you?”

John shrugged as he always did. “Better now that you two are back.”

Roger doubted he fully meant it, not if he meant him too. Brian was his friend so that was understandable but he mostly assumed he annoyed the youngest.

“Are you two gonna help make the table or sit there gossiping?” Freddie shouted dramatically from the kitchen where he was still donned in an apron.

Brian huffed from his place at the counter. “I can help.”

“No,” He denied. “You’re still sick.”

“I’m not sick, Fred.”

“Take a deep breath.”

Brian’s lack of deep breaths showed that Freddie he was right. He loved being right, so he smiled and literally pat himself on the back.

John and Roger did as they were asked and began to set the table while Brian was exiled from helping because Freddie had deemed him ill. Also on his list was to pester the brunette for his healing nose like the mother-hen he was. Touching it, pulling his cheeks apart which couldn't feel good, and going as far to pull on the flesh between his eyes.

“Leave it alone, Fred, you’re making it worse!” He shouted from behind the others who were placing bowls and spoons. 

When the table was set, and Freddie had let go of Brian, everyone took their places. Freddie next to John and Brian next to Roger. The happy couple held hands when they sat, initiated by Brian.

The soup wasn’t nearly as heavy on garlic as it smelled, but it did have chunks of potato and carrots with noodles mixed in which was good for the balance of flavour so they wouldn't die of garlic-shock. The tension sailed away with the steam of the soup and Roger was at ease by the time he had finished his first bowl. It was nearing ten at night when they finally moved from the kitchen table, the bowls of soup long drained of their liquids, and the conversation settling with laughs and smiles.

Roger went to the sofa and began to take blankets out of the side of the cushions for his bed while Brian, John, and Freddie cleaned up in the kitchen. The television created background noise for the occupants of the home and the air of familiarity was present comfortably.

“Rog,” Brian said. He approached the end of the sofa and gently took Roger’s wrist gently. “You don’t have to, uh, sleep on the couch.”

“Huh?”

“You could sleep with me. My room. If you want.”

Roger couldn’t help the smile that broke out upon the offer. “Okay, if you want.”

Neither of them cared to notice the way their friends were staring, wide-eyed and smiling. It had been made apparent that they were perhaps a couple again, or thinking of it. It was only when Roger’s hand reached for Brian’s that they had their suspicions confirmed.

Surprisingly, the others kept their excitement to themselves. Their goodnights were said with poorly disguised enthusiasm and glances to their intertwined hands. Giggling like schoolgirls, they rushed upstairs to give the other two privacy. Based on the fact that only one door closed, it meant they'd went into Freddie's room; most likely to talk about them.

Brian had completely forgotten about the state of his bedroom in his haze of having Roger back in one piece. When he went to his door, he soon remembered the way he’d gone without cleaning anything inside. Plates were left with food still on them, clothes everywhere, and his bed missing sheets.

When he opened the door, Roger stepped inside first before he could stop him.

The inside was cleaned. His bed was made, the dishes were gone, and everything was back in its place. Brian didn’t understand until he realized Freddie must have cleaned it for him. Roger stretched himself out on the bed with a heavy sigh before kicking off his trousers to the floor. His shirt stayed on, and he tucked himself under the covers. Brian followed suit and removed his trousers as well but instead tossed them into the laundry bin next to his closet. 

Now in bed together, things were a little awkward. Neither of them knew how to approach the closeness despite having done it for practically their entire lives. It all felt so intimate and new. A hand reached on Roger’s leg, and slowly the fingers inched their way down to his hip bones where the bones stuck out only a little now. Matching the energy, the blonde spread his legs a little.

“Is that okay?” Brian asked, voice soft and smooth.

Roger returned with a nod and dragged his underwear down his hips to his feet where he kicked them away. Brian dismissed his own shirt and boxers and crawled on top of his lover with heavy lids. He stretched down to take the bottom of Roger’s shirt, but he pushed back and stopped him. Brian continued but Roger once again pushed away, heightening his confusion.

With a questioning look, Brian frowned. Roger’s own expression was comparable with a more than guilty look on his face.

“Can I keep my shirt on?” Roger asked, so quietly Brian almost didn’t hear him.

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” He dawdled off with the guilt on his face becoming more profound. “I don’t wanna.”

Confusion turned to curiosity but Brian left it alone as to not start anything or make Roger uncomfortable. He instead continued on his movement, dipping his hands below Roger’s waistline and tugging downward just below the blondes cock, inside of his thighs where the skin was already slick.

Roger squirmed, his mouth opening and closing with his teeth scraping against his lower lip before meeting with his top row of teeth.

“Wait here,” Brian suddenly said. He shifted to his night side table where he rummaged with his hand a little, occasionally looking to Roger who was staring down at him with anticipation thick in his chest. Brian pulled out a black satin bag with red rope at the top knotting it together and held it in front of Roger’s face teasingly.

“Tell me if any of this isn’t okay,” Brian told gently as he sat on top of Roger’s lap. One by one he pulled things out of the satin bag before the blonde's eyes who watched with interest.

A smaller bag inside of the satin one full of multi-coloured rope, a rubber ring, and a blindfold. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

Gently, Roger’s wrists were taken and pulled above his head. “Brian,” He spoke with a thick voice. “Tighter.”

“You’re sure?”

“If you’re gonna do something,” Roger said stiffly and pressed his wrists against the headboard of the bed. He tightened the rope on his right hand until the flesh grated painfully with a pink already flooding the affected area. “Do it right.”

Brian grinned and tightened the rope further on his wrist before moving onto the next one. His ankles were next and the ropes were placed in a way that spread his legs apart.

Holding up the blindfold, Brian raised a brow in question. Roger immediately nodded.

“You’re sure?” 

“Put the bloody thing on me.”

“I don’t want you to be un-”

“Brian, stop being a wanker. If you’re going to fuck me, do it. Don’t be a pussy.”

The brunette pushed himself onto Roger’s upper chest, his thighs straddling his ribs, and placed the blindfold over his face. The ropes on his wrists twisted as he pulled down on them in testing, testing their strength and tightness. Brian had tied a decent knot, but the one he'd done was stronger.

“Sit still,” Brian warned. Roger stopped twisting the ropes but smiled knowingly.

With his hand going below Roger’s waist once again, this time he stroked his fingertips over the side of his cock with a gentleness that left a lot to be desired. The motion made his entire body want to twist, but because of the ropes he could only move upward.

“Sit still. I won’t ask you again.”

He stopped moving for now, but the very slightest touch on his skin made his legs twitch. “Touch me,” He asked, turning into a begging. “God, please.”

“Where do you want me to touch you?”

Roger closed his mouth and lifted his lower half as much as he could to hint him in the direction, words too difficult to use at the time. Brian did what he wanted, tracing his fingers across the front of the blondes clothed stomach down to his shaft. The feeling of Brian touching even him in the lightest sense made him quiver with a passionate sigh growing from his lips.

“I don’t know, Roger, you don’t sound like you want it.” Brian teased. His head dipped down and he kissed the inner of his lover's thigh; his free hand went up to his chest where he rubbed his first two fingers over his lover's suddenly too-sensitive nipple, forcing him to bite back a moan that got caught in his throat.

Words were hard to force out with his body still being touched so gently when he needed something rougher, but he knew Brian wouldn’t be giving in so easily unless he begged on his knees. Perhaps literally. “God, I do.” His voice was raspy but high-pitched with a desperation that made the brunette sigh heavily. 

“You still don’t sound convinced.”

A bite just below Roger’s groin on the sensitive, warm skin made him keen, his head tilting back in carelessness. “I’m- _ah,_  begging you.”

Brian rolled his eyes with a cheeky smile and shifted forwards. “Fine, since you’re begging.”

He bent down to Roger’s abdomen and wrapped his lips around the head of his cock that was already beginning to leak from simply the anticipation. As soon as the contact was made, Roger cried out with a gasp. He twisted his wrists and feet into the binding rope and whimpered when Brian used both his hand and mouth to please him.

It was almost too much, but just as he was about to become too overwhelmed, Brian sat up and moved to the front where he laid on the side of him to kiss his face and neck with lips that were damp and swollen. 

Roger could hardly move in his pleasure-soaked haze but the brunette turned his head back and forth for him to get every inch of skin. His lips were wet and left a cold breeze to pass on the spots in which he’d been kissed over and over again; The chill passing over his exposed flesh forced him to rut into the air desperately.

In a small shift, Brian was on top of Roger’s chest. He removed the blindfold and slid on top of his cock with some adjusting, sighing with a moan finishing off when Roger was fully inside of him. Meeting Roger’s eyes, the pupils completely swallowed the blue that he was expecting and his lids were covering half of his eyes, giving him a slack and sedated look.

His head went back into the pillows when his lover gripped the headboard just behind him, his hands needing to go above his head, and began to lift himself before sitting back down.

“God, Roger,” Brian huffed and his eyes screwing shut. “Fuck.”

“Faster,” Roger begged with his voice syrupy and tense. Brian did as he was told, squeezing his sides to get more traction, and with that, he couldn’t help but cry out in pleasure. 

His left wrist twisted the rope again, but this time it loosened and he was able to slide his house out of the bindings. He used his new freedom to grip the side of Brian’s head until he himself had to whimper; not just with pain, but with enjoyment that came from the pain. 

He took advantage of the brunette riding him and used his hand to reach under his cock and fold his fingers under his balls. He wasn’t able to reach around to his cock while his hand was busy, so instead, he bucked his hips into his partner which made him gasp and close his eyes as tight as he could to feel through the ecstasy before he came on Roger’s stomach far too soon.

“Okay, okay, ah,” Roger huffed, his hand moving to Brian’s hip bone where he grabbed the skin in desperation. Saliva pooled from the edge of his mouth and dribbled down his chin when he felt his partner tighten around him as he bounced himself upon seeing how worn out the blonde was becoming quickly.

To quiet Roger when his own words wouldn’t come, Brian dipped down and wrapped a hand around his jaw so he could kiss him. Roger only laughed into the kiss and continued until the laughter turned into heavy breathing and moaning that made Brian have to break away so his partner could get enough air.

When he was able to, he gulped in air and used it to keen at the top of his lungs, if not somehow louder. Any secrecy they were keeping about their relationship was certainly done now because the next thing Roger decided to do was shout; “Fuck, Brian!” 

So, everyone in the house, neighbourhood, and the entirety of China now knew they were dating and also having sex. Either that or Roger was being murdered by Brian but he was loving it.

As soon as Roger came, Brian was still on him. The feeling of heat instantly immersing him pushed him right over the edge and he came almost as soon as it happened. His body tightened and he pushed backwards, the cock still inside of him that continued to spill warmth, with his teeth clenching nearly painfully. 

Brian babbled nothing coherent as he painted Roger’s stomach, a moan ripping from deep inside of his belly when Roger suddenly began to run his hand back and forth over his cock, reaching down to his balls once again but this time applying pressure to really make his head swim. It was overwhelming, and it ended with a heavy sigh of relief with his member twitching in shock while it softened in Roger's hand.

Roger continued to moan even after they’d both finished from the aftershock. When Brian sat up, bracing himself on either side of Roger’s lean torso, the friction made him whimper. Even when he went to the bathroom to grab a towel he was still breathing quite heavily.

Now back in bed, Brian smiled as he looked over Roger’s shining, slick chest that rose and fell while he rubbed the towel over himself. His pupils were still blown but the blue had begun to show once more. His eyelids still dominated half of his gaze and a sloppy smile was directed to the brunette once he realized he was being watched, or more likely admired.

“Do you want me to help?” Brian asked in a quiet voice. Roger glanced over his way and nodded softly, so he took the towel and slowly brought it to his groin. 

The sensitivity followed and Roger gasped lightly when the towel was stroked against his cock again. Brian gave an apologetic look with no sincerity behind it. “Still sensitive?” 

Roger could only nod, clearly in no position to speak without a whine or whimper replacing his sentences.

“I’ll be gentle.” 

So he was. He was gentle removing the rest of the ropes from his lovers raw wrist and ankles. The skin showed signs of bruising and rawness already, so Brian frowned upon seeing the damage despite the way Roger smiled when he saw it.

“Does it hurt?” He asked with a hand running over the top of Roger’s foot down to his ankle gently. He flinched only a little when his fingers traced the red, throbbing skin.

“A little, but it’s gonna be okay. I think it’s my punishment for moving when you told me not to, huh?”

Brian felt his cheeks heat up and Roger grinned at his success. Brian wandered off for a moment and returned with a bottle of aloe vera, taking his place once again but now gesturing for Roger to sit up. Once up, Brian gently took his wrist and slowly rubbed the green jelly into the irritated flesh that was bound to hurt in the morning if the proper care wasn’t taken.

After his wrist, he moved onto his ankles where he bent Roger’s leg for him and continued what he’d just done with his wrist.

Roger could only watch with pure, untainted love as his boyfriend expertly made sure he wasn’t harming him. He watched as he blew on the jelly to cool the burning further before continuing. It was sweet, and Roger simply couldn’t look away even when Brian was finished and headed back to the bathroom for bandages.

As soon as Brian turned to ask him something, Roger seized the opportunity and grabbed two handfuls of his curly hair to forcefully push him into a kiss. Brian laughed with a smile breaking the kiss and a muffled; “ _Okay then,_ ” in-between Roger licking the edges of his lips to get him to open his mouth.

Once Brian parted his lips to get an attempt at words, Roger was already halfway down his throat. Giving in, he pushed their heads together and forced the blonde to his back where he sat on his chest in a strange angle to avoid breaking their kiss. He was light enough not to worry about his breathing as he was sitting on his chest, the ribs still at risk for breakage since they were still brittle, but heavy enough to force Roger to gasp in air when the make-out session went a bit too long without oxygen.

“God, I love you,” Roger panted as he desperately lifted his head as much as he could to get another kiss. He kissed all over his lower stomach with his tongue poking out with each one when he couldn’t reach his lips and Brian hadn’t leaned down. “I love you so much.”

“Are you sure you’re not just a little high on the fumes from your orgasm?”

Roger cringed. “What- That sounds fucking disgusting, don’t ruin the moment.”

“I was just saying-”

“Don’t talk, you just sit there and look pretty for me,” Roger smiled when Brian rolled his eyes. Personally, he wouldn’t mind if Brian stayed silent for the next week if it meant he would sit on his chest and look at him with the post-sex happiness and warmth in his eyes.

Brian opened his mouth to speak, probably to bitch about what he’d just said, but Roger forced his jaw closed with one hand on top of his head and the other under his chin.

“Shush, Bri, just sit there and look pretty.”

Through clenched teeth, Brian ground out; “Oh, fuck off.”

Roger smiled wolfishly and traced his front teeth over his bottom lip with his hips rolling. “Don’t turn me on again, I don’t have the energy.”

“As if you do any work when we have sex. You,” He said, leaning down into Roger’s chest to brush their lips together. “Just have to lay on your back and, well, _look pretty_.”

Roger seemed to enjoy the sentiment for a moment, his cock especially interested, but he frowned when Brian’s hands wrapped around his waist to rub his fingers back and forth on his sides.

Confused, Brian frowned too. “You okay? Did I offend you?”

“No, not you. I don’t know, I just feel bad about it.” Brian was clearly confused so he continued. “I didn’t take my shirt off. I know you wanted me to-”

“Hey, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I don’t want anything from you that you don’t want yourself.”

He shrugged, his feelings remaining the same. “I just don’t want to put you off.”

“About what?”

“You know.”

Brian certainly did not know, but the fact that he didn’t made Roger a little less than frustrated despite it not being his fault.

“I don’t want you being put off when you see, uh, you know, the scars,” His cheeks burned at the mention. Brian had seen him shirtless few times before, mostly when he was cleaning the injury before it had scarred fully and the pain was only there when he thought about it or looked at them. Now it had scarred fully, but the discolouration and way it raised was gut-wrenching. He couldn’t stand looking at himself without his clothes anymore.

Brian seemed hurt himself having heard this. He acted like it was an insult to him, and he began to run his fingers down Roger’s chest with his head lowered. “Roger, you don’t need to act like your body is gross. Your entire body could be scarred, and I wouldn’t think any less of you. Or how much I find you attractive,” He shook his head sadly. “It really hurts me to know you’re ashamed of your body.”

“It hurts _you_?”

“I know it sounds a bit stupid because it isn’t me who had to go through what you did, but it just upsets me that you would find anything about yourself to be off-putting. You can talk to me about anything you know.”

Roger looked away and nodded. He still wasn’t sure about what Brian had said, as he was sure he would have said it even if he didn’t mean it just to make him feel better. Courage welled up in his chest, though it was mixed with heavy anxiety, and he waved Brian off of his chest so he could pull his shirt up.

The scar reached from his lower stomach to his upper stomach and wrapped around his waist and finally ended where his lower hip was. The scar was raised and bright red with purple streaks through it. His hip sunk in a little where it ended, or began depending on how you looked at it, and there were indents on his side and upper stomach from feeding tubes and the port where another tube was placed to help him breathe when he was unable to on his own from his crushed rib cage.

Brian now realized he’d actually brushed over the scar but thought it was a tag on the inside of his shirt from how raised the scar tissue had become. It was firm and felt like paper if you rubbed it the wrong way.

In his inspection, he failed to see Roger beginning to tear up. “It’s so obvious,” He whined quietly, wiggling when Brian touched it again. “I told you.”

Now moving his fingers to where Roger’s skin caved in from his oxygen tube, he gave a look that the blonde was unable to read. “I don’t think it’s bad at all. I quite like it.”

Now with actual frustration behind his voice, Roger sat up and took his shirt in his hands. “Stop fucking talking like that, Brian. I know what it looks like, you don’t have to sugar coat everything so I won’t jump in front of a car.”

Brian sat up and moved in front of him with his legs crossing. He wasn’t mad or frustrated with his lover's outburst, he was more than understanding and he once again put his hand on the side with the scar. “I’m not lying to you. Sure, it is obvious. It’s darker than your skin and it’s thick, but do you really think a scar or three is going to change how I feel about you? I know, it isn’t about me, but I think you care too much about how I think of you.”

“I just wish it wasn’t on me.”

A scar wasn’t something you could just wash away or pray away, once it was there it was forever unless it faded enough to be invisible. Roger hadn’t, and wouldn’t be that lucky. An umbrella had gone right through him and that wasn't exactly going to be kind to his skin.

“I can’t do anything about it, I’ll try and look for something to get rid of the discolouration if it bothers you, but I don’t want you thinking that it’s something bad,” Roger seemed to be listening now, so he smiled and traced his fingers under his chin. “You could have died. I’d rather have you have some scarring than be in an early grave, and I know you’ll think the same one day.”

“Do you think there’s something that could help with the discolouration?” Roger asked quietly. He met Brian’s fingers on his side and looked down at it, his eyes tracing the lines. “I heard what you said. I wasn’t ignoring you. Uh, thanks.”

Even though he might sound insincere, he did mean what he said. He simply wasn’t a perfectionist when it came to these things, especially when he was trying this new thing called honesty.

Brian smiled and pinched his jaw. “You’re very welcome, pretty boy. Now, lay down and let me show you how handsome you are.”

Roger, with a blush creeping across his face, did as he was told and laid down. Brian tossed the shirt he was holding and bent down to kiss every inch of his torso, but gave special attention to the scars in particular. It must have been sensitive, because as soon as his lips met the utter-most raised spot, Roger winced and hissed with his body tensing.

“Sorry, sorry,” Brian said. “Does that hurt?”

“Eh, yeah. It’s still sensitive.”

Brian sat up and gently took his index and middle finger over the mark. “This should make it feel a little better until we can get you something for the colour.” He began to massage over the affected area, all the while making sure he wasn’t in any pain. The next time he looked up, Roger’s heavy lids were no longer heavy with ecstasy but with tiredness and a yawn was present on his lips that he attempted to fight back.

“I love you so much,” Brian said which got a droopy smile out of Roger. “You know that? Every part of you. Love it.”

“Shut up,” He smiled, though this time he couldn’t fight the yawn that came. “I love you too.”

The brunette changed his position to the side of his body where he wrapped his arms around his torso with a slight squeeze that didn’t hurt him. “I’ve missed this.”

Roger wasn’t sure if he meant cuddling or touching his skin, but it seemed to be both given the circumstances. Neither of them were wearing even a stitch of clothing, and even though the scenery would be sexual, they felt nothing but love for one another. 

“I’ve missed this too.” And he really, really meant it. 

In his moment of thankfulness, he couldn’t help but think of how goddamn lucky he was that he had someone like Brian. His life would have been so much different if Brian hadn’t picked up the phone, or if he’d hung up at the hearing of his name. 

Roger turned on his other side and nuzzled into Brian’s chest with a heavy sigh coming from deep inside of his belly. He said, so quietly it was hardly audible, into Brian’s chest; “I’m glad I’m alive.”

“I am too,” Brian replied with a smile on his face.

And they both meant it, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like, comment, and kudos!!! also check my tumblr out its @FeederMercury (yes its kinky stuff but you can just inbox me if oyu wanna say smthn about drowse)


	23. See What A Fool I've Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian has job troubles and Roger knows he's to blame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmmmm this plot is getting thicc and trust me its gonna get... thiccah

That gut sinking feeling you got when you heard something terrible was nothing new to Brian. Actually, it wasn't new to anyone in the May, Taylor, Bulsara, and Deacon household. It just isn't any of their idea of a good time.

He didn't expect, nor did he want, his morning to begin at nine in the morning to the sound of his phone ringing a hole in his pocket with the sounds of chimes and bells. Fortunately, the sound didn't wake Roger, who was still asleep but no longer tucked into his scrawny chest for comfort. Instead, he had pushed himself to the very edge of the bed and it was a wonder how he hadn't just flopped off with how much he moved in his sleep.

Wiggling away as quietly as he could, Brian padded out of bed as silent as he could manage with a hand clicking his phone to silent. Roger hadn't slept the best that night, and with the way he was breathing quite heavily, he must have _really_ been asleep and hadn't been woken up by the alarm sounding off.

Brian went to the kitchen where he moved on the back porch to take the call. It was a little cold out, so he instinctively pressed his legs together and the free arm he had against his torso to protect himself from the morning chill. Once the door was clicked closed behind him to shield his sounds from the rest of the home, he answered the phone. Before he could even get it close to his ear, however, he heard a frantic voice.

" _Oh, you decide to pick up now?_ " His co-worker Joe urged. His voice was heavy with irritation which surprised Brian seeing as he was normally a cheery person. That exact tone is what put him on edge and let him know he wasn't going to enjoy what he was about to hear.

"Joe?" Brian asked, clearly perplexed. It didn't occur to him why the call was made until he realized that he, indeed, had a job. A job he hadn't gone to in two weeks without a single call to explain where he was. "Oh fuck, Joe, I can explain where I've been."

" _Explain? Explain where you've been for the past two weeks? I was told you were in the hospital, Brian."_

"Hospital? No, I wasn't in any hospital. Listen, I have a friend who needed me, and I guess I forgot to call."

A sigh on the other end of the line told Brian this was not going to go well. " _I really am sorry, Brian. I can't have an employee who doesn't show up for work in almost a month and doesn't explain why. It's ridiculous."_

"Okay, but if you just _listen_ -"

" _Sorry, Brian. You were taken off the schedule a week ago but I guess you were too busy to answer my calls."_

Brian must have tensed every muscle in his body because he suddenly felt like he was on fire; though that could be the humiliation burning his cheeks. Squeezing his phone became painful in his hands, and it took every fibre in his being to grind out the words; "Thank you for the opportunity." Then he hung up and tried to take a deep breath which came in a pant.

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he realized how very fucked he was. How very fucked everyone in the house was. He just single-handedly bent over every single one of his roommates, and Roger, and fucked them. 

John had an unpaying internship at a friends mechanic shop he'd met in college, Freddie couldn't find work, besides the occasional odd job, and Roger was on a ban from even finding work with his mental condition. It wasn't that Brian was worried that he would go off the handle if he got a job now, more that he needed to stay away from stress at the moment so he wouldn't.

It was quite a tricky situation he'd just shoved everyone into.

Brian didn't quite realize where he was going until he was perching in front of Freddie's bed, tears welling in his eyes while he shook his friend awake. If he had given himself a moment to think instead of going right to his friend's side, he would have most likely called back and begged for his job back. Though, now it was too late as Freddie was already stirring awake. Freddie wasn't a heavy sleeper and he awakened within a few moments to pull up his sleeping mask decorated like a cat with ears and all.

"What- Hey, Bri, what's wrong?" Freddie asked, though seeing his look of anxiety made his own worry bubble up.

"I'm spiralling," He admitted bluntly. "I need to talk to you."

"Okay, well," Freddie replied with his voice flat. "Don't make so much sound when we leave. You can't whisper to save your life."

"What? Why?"

The answer to that came in the form of the oldest pointing at the other side of his bed where he hadn't even noticed another person was. Someone who looked a bit like Freddie himself was asleep, cuddling with a body pillow that was tucked between his legs. Freddie smiled shyly at Brian's confusion. "I had company, I didn't expect this, sorry."

"It doesn't even matter right now, we need to talk."

"Well, given the fact that you aren't wielding an axe and having an aneurysm means Roger hasn't left again and John is at Veronica's house, so where's the fire?"

Brian grabbed Freddie by the arm and pulled him out of the bedroom where he was dragged downstairs despite the way he was whining under his breath from being tired and how the sudden movement made him dizzy. Brian now anxiously paced the carpet in front of the TV while Freddie watched, following him with his eyes. He'd really fucked up, how was he going to tell Freddie now? 

In a tense voice, Freddie winced at his friend. "Brian, you're sweating."

"Well, _yes_ , I have a great fucking reason, though. I, eh, lost my job a minute ago. So, what the fuck are we supposed to do now, Freddie? Beg?"

The oldest had no reaction, which was unexpected. "Is it because you didn't call in?"

"Yes."

"Fucking-" Freddie huffed and crossed his arms in clear disapproval. "Okay, so we look for other employment."

Brian stared at him like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears. "Fred, we have bills. Rent. You make it sound like a piece of cake to just get another job. I had to lick boots to get a job at that restaurant, and all I did was wash the bloody dishes!" With his voice rising, he looked over at the stairs and lowered his voice to not wake Roger.

"So I'll find one and pay the bills while you, John, and Roger find-"

"Not Roger."

Freddie furrowed his brow. "Brian, he can work too. He seems fine, and if you're so stressed-"

"Okay, listen," Brian stated in a flat tone. "Roger isn't as fine as he might seem. Last night after he fell asleep, he cried in my arms for two hours saying he was scared but didn't remember when I woke him up. You don't know him like I do, okay? I can't have him getting better just to over-work himself at some job where people will step all over him."

To him, it sounded an awful lot like Brian was being overly protective again. Not to mention the condescending way he was being spoken to that frustrated him to no end. "There isn't any way I'm changing your mind, is there?"

"You would do the same thing for me if I was him. He just needs a little more time."

"Fine," Freddie gave in with a sigh and a hand across his forehead that dipped to his chin. "You know my opinion. John shares it as well, Brian. But, if you think this is what's best for blondie, then I suppose you know best."

The brunette sat on the sofa and leaned impossibly close to Freddie with an intense look. "We won't tell Roger about this either. That stress would crush him."

"Brian, you must stop shielding him from the world. You've just gotten him back from doing exactly that."

"This isn't the same, Fred."

The logic made sense but it seemed dubious. If they told him, there was a chance that they'd be able to convince Brian into letting him get a job and help around the house instead of just being around to float in the living room and outside to smoke. Freddie agreed despite his opinions. "He's been a bit tense, sure. You know my opinion, dear."

"Okay," Brian said, deflating into the sofa where he looked a little more comfortable. "We can go out today and tell him we're going for groceries and look for places that are hiring. I'll call John and he can, I don't know, beg Robert to pay him at the internship. Maybe he'll feel bad for him since he'd never asked before."

"And when Roger figures this out because he isn't a complete fool?"

"He won't because we won't tell him. If any more of my mistakes are the reason he's stressed I don't know what I'll do. He's got enough to focus on. Not to mention I think he's finally getting keen on the idea of therapy."

Freddie, concerned but clearly keeping something from slipping his tongue, placed a hand on Brian's thigh. "You have got to take a break from things and look after yourself for once, Brian. I know Roger has issues, but you can't just beat yourself up trying to take care of him. You matter just as much." The shortened version of what he really wanted to say was better than nothing. If he had his way, he would just tell Brian to get over it because now it was make or break; make being Roger gets a job and he doesn't collapse like the barrel of a gun pressed to his head, and break being they lose their home.

"I know," Brian agreed. "I know. I'm good though, really. Let's just focus on what's happening now, which is finding a job." With a finalizing rub of his thighs, Brian stood and sighed to shake off any dust and cobwebs from the walls of his lungs, lungs that were beginning to feel tough inside of him like the flesh had built up to make it harder on him to do the simple task of breathing. "I'll go see if he's awake yet."

Roger was certainly awake. Unfortunately, he had been at the top of the stairs leaning against the railing with an open ear not soon after Freddie was dragged out of his room. They weren't exactly quiet, to be fair. Upon hearing Brian's ramblings, Roger went back to their room to get in the shower to diminish any hints that he'd been quietly listening.

Standing naked in the shower gave Roger a moment to think while he was alone. Brian had acted like it was his fault, his blame that he lost his job. A simple mistake of not calling in to tell his employers he'd left. Brian was ignorant, and the self-blame would kill him eventually if he didn't release some of the tension. He'd been the one that had left, so Brian had to get him. Spiralling, thinking he was dead, that was on Roger. He was too upset to bathe or eat according to what he'd said that day on Peaches couch and who's fault could that have been? Roger would have to convince him to let him get a job, either that or get one himself without telling anyone until he had it.

His head burned with how hard he was pressing it against the tile wall now. He already knew what Brian would say if he told him about his guilt, something about how he doesn't need to worry or blame himself. More blame for himself, yadda yadda yadda. His boyfriend was smart, but he could be quite stupid and quick to let himself sink so no one else had to, even if it was clearly someone else's fault.

The bathroom door cracked open and Brian moved into the shower, having shed his clothes before he got into the bathroom. He hugged his slender body into Roger's and kissed into his hair with a smile. His hands wrapped around Roger's torso and he pressed his hands against his chest to move him closer into him.

"How'd you sleep, baby?" Brian whispered into his ear.

"I'm okay, when did you get up?" Roger asked, turning his head where Brian took advantage of it and kissed his cheek.

"About thirty minutes ago. Me and Freddie were downstairs watching telly. He's got a boy in his room," He laughed into Roger's neck and his teeth scraped against the skin. "Looks just like him. I think he has a type, and it's himself."

Roger laughed and turned around to face his boyfriend. He looked just as stressed as he sounded and it was a wonder how Brian expected him not to realize something was wrong. "How's your face?"

"Still attached to my skull- well, faces aren't attached to your skull. You understand what I mean. My nose is feeling a lot better, Rog."

Well, he's terrible at talking to avoid topics, but he was trying. Roger laughed at his strange comment about skulls and tried to ignore the way the brunette's smile faltered a bit. In Roger's mind, he probably just realized it was indeed his boyfriend's fault that he'd lost his job. If he thought that, however, he didn't mention it. He just kept kissing and running his hands through Roger's hair like it was his job.

"I love you, Rog."

"I love you too, Bri." But all he really wanted to say was; _I'm sorry I made you lose your job because I was selfish._


	24. The Thing About Severe Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Roger stress over financial issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dyed my hair half pink half yellow down the middle the other night so thats how my depressive episode is going uwu how are yall  
> also you should all be nervous for the next few chapters :)

The thing about severe depression is that you never really heal from the emotional damage unless you’re lucky. Something that you had previously thought you had gotten over comes back and suddenly you’re right back on the road you had been before, one you’d thought you had demolished; It turns out you just put a temporary dam up and now it was gone, opening up a whole new wave of shit that you thought wouldn’t come back to get you. Well, now you were waist-deep in that feeling again and what were you to do? 

The only thing you can think of is the thing you’ve always fallen back on, really. The only thing you know is a safety net, waiting for you in warmth and comfort. It wasn’t complicated.

The thing about gut-wrenching stress was that nothing was good enough for your body. You ate and the worry forced it back up, shoving you over a toilet to wretch until you can’t stand. You thought you were getting your life together and now you were back to hardly sleeping, hardly eating, and constantly worrying about your next day and how you would get by because of what you did to yourself.

In other news: Shit was hard.

It had been two weeks since Brian had lost his job and everyone in the house was feeling the pressure, especially Roger who wasn’t supposed to know he’d lost it. He felt like a swaddled child in the way that they sheltered him with plastic smiles while concealing the fact that Brian was a wreck with excuses that perhaps his bronchitis had come back for round two, which it certainly had but not because he'd caught a bug.

It was irritating to see Brian constantly check on his partner like he was the one in need. Too irritating to find him in the bathroom at four in the morning taking a cold shower with the smell of sweat and vomit strong in the air while still denying that perhaps he was stretching himself a little too thin in his waking hours; which he spent out looking for jobs under the ploy of taking a walk or grocery shopping. As if they needed three gallons of milk at one time when they didn’t even drink milk or eat cereal that quickly.

Roger had been under the impression that he’d been getting better, and maybe he was, but now the worry for Brian, John, and Freddie consumed him like a cloud of smoke. To put his emotional situation in a short way; He felt how it felt to flush your keys down a toilet because you were drunk and weren’t paying attention. That was exactly how it felt, but times a million.

Watching Brian break himself down into pieces to make everyone think he wasn’t consuming himself with concern and small, petty jobs to gather as much money as he could was heartbreaking and also frustrating as hell. Roger should be the one in his position, not him. He should take every ounce of stress off of Brian's body and hold it for himself since he'd put Brian into the terrible situation.

On one side, Freddie and John were doing all they could to manage Brian while making sure Roger didn’t know he’d lost his job. Unlike Brian’s strict opinion, they believed Roger should know of the situation. He was a big boy, he could get his own job without turning into a ticking time bomb who would drop on a sharp fence at the first chance he got. What they also believed, stronger than a religious nut in a church, was that Brian only thought these things of deep worry because he couldn't handle losing Roger for a second time. God knows what may happen to either of them if he was right and Roger did snap under the pressure of a minimum wage service.

Negativity was cloaking the home like a fumigation tent and the effects were showing. 

Brian hadn’t slept in two days, his illness that he’d thought had left returning with a vengeance to attack his immune system which was certainly not helpful to his worry; Roger hadn’t done anything but take care of Brian while Brian thought he was taking care of Roger because that’s simply what he did so he wouldn’t lose his mind; Freddie and John’s emotions were worn on their sleeves, their worry instead curdling into frustration rather fast.

Now it was a Thursday, exactly two weeks since Brian had lost his job and tossed everyone into the house into a spiral of worry and stress, especially given that bills were coming soon and they hardly had enough to scrape together for gas.

Brian had been in the bathroom brushing his teeth for an hour while Roger had been waiting for him with great concern. The silence, besides the whirring ceiling fan that clicked and squeaked as it moved, was overwhelmingly noisy. Brian had been gone for too long and he was beginning to think that he had done it on purpose to avoid him.

Instead of letting himself think that, Roger bit the bullet and went into the bathroom. Inside, Brian was shirtless and bent over the sink with his toothbrush, clean and wet, in his hand with his other hand busy with his phone.

“Brian,” Roger said flatly. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh, just checking. Why, are _you_ okay?” His attention turned directly to Roger, not going further into what he was checking, and his stomach turned with how quickly he changed the topic away from himself to worry about someone else, especially him.

“I’m fine- I just- you know. Wanted to know what you were doing.”

Brian clicked his phone off and set his toothbrush back in the holding cup where Roger’s was. “Ordering your prescription.”

The prescription for his bipolar, that he was slowly coming to terms with having even in his later years of life, medication was the most expensive. In second were his pain killers which were still half full since he stopped taking them, and third in most expensive were the pills that were for his depression; though they didn’t exactly feel like they were doing much these days besides make him a little more buzzed like he'd drank a cup of coffee.

“Which ones?” Roger asked, praying that they weren’t the first since he knew exactly how they couldn’t afford practically any of the three.

“Zyprexa and the other one,” Brian told. That pretty much crushed any idea that it wouldn’t be the most expensive prescriptions, as they were both the ones Roger didn’t want to hear.

“I still have some of both, we don’t need to get them filled.”

Brian stared in confusion. “What? No, you don’t. They’re both empty.”

“No, they aren’t. I had more yesterday when I took them. I would know, man.”

“Roger, that isn’t- Are you okay?” He placed both of his hands under Roger’s jaw and gave him the most concerned look a human could possibly muster. “Are you having issues with them? You know you can talk to me about that kind of thing, if you’re having side effects.”

He huffed in irritation. “I have pills left.”

Brian, now thoroughly lost and deeply concerned about why he was being boldly lied to, stepped back and crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Okay, what’s going on?”

In the heat of the moment, Roger blurted out: “I know you lost your job and I’m really sorry-”

“Oh.” He interrupted, cheeks gone violently red in only seconds.

Yeah, oh was probably the right thing to say. It felt like he was always crying but the way Brian looked guilty for what Roger had done made him tear up. He knew it was his fault, and now Brian was finally openly feeling guilty to him and not Freddie or John.

“Well, I was hoping you wouldn’t have to find out. Come on, don’t get upset, Rog,” He frowned and put a thumb under Roger’s eye. “It’ll be okay.”

“Not fucking really,” He replied, backing away. “Why aren’t you pissed? Why haven’t you been? God, you think I’m so stupid. Like I haven’t noticed you acting like we live in candy land to protect my feelings. Why can’t you just be mad at me, we talked about talking things out and you aren’t-”

“Roger, what are you talking about?”

If he didn’t love the man standing in front of him he would hit him again, call him names, something for making him say what he did out loud. But he couldn't get himself to. He wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t a child with feelings made of glass. Roger gripped both of Brian’s wrists and tucked them into his chest. “Brian, I am not a child!”

“Roger, I am _aware_ of that! I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Now he was shouting again and Roger couldn't help but flinch from it pathetically.

Still attached to his wrists, Roger dragged Brian to the tiled floor when he sat. “I need to help with the house. I was the one who caused this, and it fucking hurts that you think I’ll still fall apart if I get a job. Freddie and John are frustrated too.”

Brian blinked at him. “Wait, okay, lets put in a pin in that. Your fault?”

“Your job.”

“Roger, I lost my job because I didn’t tell them I wasn’t coming in. This has nothing to do with you.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. The guilt was boiling over and Roger looked away from his lover in shame. “No, I know. If I hadn’t been a prat to you, you wouldn’t have had to leave to get me. You wouldn’t have lost your job. You wouldn’t have- a fucking lot of things.”  _So many more things you wouldn't have had to do if it weren't for me._

Brian hesitated to speak, driving the nail into the coffin. He was reasoning it, realizing maybe, that Roger was right. Sputtering for a second, he shuffled closer and took his hand. “Is this what you’ve been so worried about these past two weeks?”

“Obviously. You’ve been running yourself thin trying to find a job while I’ve been sitting around doing bloody nothing but watching everyone stress themselves out. Letting you waste the only fucking money we have on things we don’t need.”

He looked awfully dumbstruck and unsure of what to say. “Okay, um, your medication is important, for starters-”

“I can take a week without it.”

“-No you can’t. That isn’t a discussion. Roger, what do you want me to say?”

Some comfort would be nice. Despite his headstrong belief that it was his fault that Brian had lost his job, he would do anything but ask for Brian to say it wasn’t his fault.

“I don’t know,” He certainly did. “I just want to feel useful to fix what I did. I just want you to get mad at me.”

“You didn’t do anything, Roger, okay? None of this is on you and, God, I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.”

That was a little bit better, but he knew it wasn’t true. Not really. If he didn’t realize it was his fault before, he sure did now. His guilt and sadness took another turn and he gripped Brian's wrists tighter until the bones began to shift slightly under the frail skin. "Why aren't you mad at me? I made you lose your job, I broke your fucking nose! Be pissed, I want you to be furious with me! I deserve that!"

"Hey, hey, hey," Brian urged when Roger slammed the brunette's hands into his own chest with his grip on his wrists tightening further when his hands connected. Tugging his arms away, Roger's grip was weak enough to break off. "I'm not mad at you. I don't blame you-"

"But you should!" Roger shouted. He pushed back and sat up from the floor but Brian remained sitting with a look of worry that only fueled his anger. He wanted Brian to get up too, so he tugged on his shirt but the other man didn't budge in the slightest. Brian's hands went to Rogers' and he held them gently but tight enough to not allow him to let go. 

"Come on," Brian spoke softly. "Sit down and talk to me. You're getting worked up over nothing." Clearly having made the incorrect choice of words, Roger tugged forcefully but it did nothing in terms of being released.

"You're such a cunt, Brian! You worry about anyone but yourself but you manage to be the _most_ selfish prick on the earth. How do you think I feel watching you tear yourself up with stress while you tell me to focus on recovery? And now you smoke, with a chest infection that you pretend isn't affecting you again. How do you think I feel when I see you smoke? As if I don't know where you learned _that_ from. If you hadn't been literally spitting blood the first time you were ill, you probably wouldn't have told anyone!" Roger panted with burned-out anger when he was finished. A definitive tug released his arms from Brian's hands and he used the freedom to sit back down on the tile floor by himself. He felt a little better now that he'd gotten that out but now he had to deal with Brian's response.

"I like taking care of you, it helps me feel better about things. If you feel a little better, then I do too. I don't mean to act like I don't really matter, but sometimes you're more important. You really worry me sometimes, Rog, and I just need to know I've cared for you so I can help myself. Understand?"

Roger blinked uncertainly. "That just isn't bloody fair. That isn't how that works." 

"Listen, I know I'm not perfect, but you're recovering from an attempt at taking your life," He said as if Roger didn't know and think of that night every single day. "And even though it seems like I'm not taking care of myself like you want me to, I'm doing everything I can to make sure I'm keeping my head above water. If that includes keeping you, Freddie, and John up too, that isn't so bad."

Roger's expression softened and he put his hand out on Brian's knee. "But it isn't fair. You should put yourself first."

Brian shrugged as if he didn't agree despite his words saying otherwise. It wasn't exactly fair for either of them to say that they should put themselves forward, neither were great at following that rule themselves but it seemed it wasn't the right time to bring that up. "I'm just trying to get us over this situation, and then we'll be fine. All of us. I'm looking into therapists, new medications, it's gonna be good."

He pushed forward and ran his hand across Brian's neck where the skin was clammy from the low-grade fever he had been running for nearly three days now. "Let me take a share of the stress. I just can't let you take it all. Freddie and John have some, I can fucking see that, but let me take some. I can get a job, uh, dog walking! That's the least stressful job in the world!" That got a smile out of Brian and he smiled back with the knowledge that he had gotten a positive reaction out of him. "Come on, say yes, or I'll have to beat it out of you."

"Fine," Brian agreed with reluctance sinking his voice. "You'll only help with the bills. And this agreement includes that you have got to promise me if you start to feel bad again."

Feeling bad was less of being sad and more for feeling overwhelmed like he was suffocating in his own depression. It was hard to admit to even himself that for the past month that exact feeling had come back, but this was no time to bring that up. That didn't seem logical for the situation, Brian was already ill, literally, with pressure and concern.

“See?” Roger smiled with a new-found enthusiasm. “It’ll be good.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” To seal the deal, Roger put his pinky out and Brian took it with his own without hesitation. “Now its legally binding.”

“Oh, is it?” He smiled. 

“Uh-huh. If I break it, uh, I have to be drawn and quartered in the street or something.”

Brian’s eyes narrowed with uncertainty and he nodded. “Uh, okay, deal. Where will we find the horses?”

Roger shrugged and stood up, offering a hand to Brian. “I don’t know. Ask Freddie. Who cares, Brian? It’s a hypothetical.”

They both laughed and Brian took him into a hug. “How long have you known?”

“Since you first lost it. You weren’t that sneaky with going out to find jobs with Freddie either. I know you’ve been sick with worry, and I don’t want you hiding anything from me anymore, okay? I’m here for you like you are for me.”

“I know,” He lied, knowing Roger wouldn’t be able to handle him when he was at his lowest when he was still trying to piece himself together; right now it even, ignorantly, looked like Roger was coming out on top. “I’ll come to you next time.”

* * *

It felt a little better now that everyone knew Roger was aware of the situation, but now the tension cut a little deeper than before now he knew. Now the hostility wasn’t hidden for his feelings despite the way Brian attempted to shield him from it; the arguments no longer in whispers.

He didn’t mind, but he would rather not hear his friends arguing about money and making digs on one another every single night. They were all struggling to cope with the crushing weight of the situation but truly they would feel better if they would take five minutes to think of the cruel insults they would throw at one another without a second thought as if none of them were trying their hardest and working themselves to the bone.

Now it was another night where another fight had broken out downstairs. Roger was attempting to sleep and the unfortunate arguing woke him into a panic, thinking something was wrong or he'd somehow done something terrible. A small thought, though more terrifying, was that he'd woken back up in his old home where his father was upset with him for falling asleep too early.

The bed was empty and cold, having never been filled by his lover that night as he had been busy with Freddie and John. Roger knew he would still be busy, but perhaps he wanted a break from his work and wanted to see him. Or Roger just needed to see Brian. Either way, he headed downstairs and wrapped his arms around Brian’s neck from where he was sat at the kitchen table with a kiss pressing on his temple that made the brunette blush.

“Hey,” Roger whispered into his hair. “I don’t feel well.”

Distant and without looking, Brian spoke; “Do you need to take something?”

Not understanding that he needed comfort and not a cough drop, Roger bent beside him and squished his cheek against his arm. “No, I just don’t _feel_ well.”

“Oh,” Brian frowned with the awareness of what he meant. He moved a hand through the blonde hair beside him in concern and pressed his head to his lips. “I’ll be upstairs in a second. I’ll make you tea.”

Freddie sat a pen down with too much force that made the blonde jump and stared a hole into Brian’s head. “We’ve _just_ sat down, Bri.”

Roger stood up and leaned against Brian for comfort, feeling a touch of hostility aimed towards him. Freddie and John didn’t look at him even for a moment; John was buried in the folder he was pretending to look through to stay out of the situation and Freddie was still staring at Brian who didn’t know exactly what to say.

“We've done this all day,” Brian replied flatly.

Now turning to Roger, Freddie lowered his eyebrows to show his displeasure. “Can you wait for just a moment?”

 _“Jesus, Freddie,_ ” Brian whispered but said nothing more than that. Freddie gave him a glance but didn’t comment back.

“Okay, sorry, I didn’t want to annoy you,” Roger withdrew with guilt heavy on his conscious for disturbing them. “I’m tired, I’m gonna head to bed again. Will you be up soon?” A glance at the clock told that it was nearing two in the morning. “Before four?”

With a hand lifting to his lovers' side, Brian smiled apologetically but clearly didn’t want to start another fight. “I’ll be up as soon as I can. Tomorrow I’ll take a break so we can be together and relax, okay?”

Despite the way that Freddie and John scoffed as if he had said the most disrespectful thing they'd ever heard, Brian held his place and didn’t back up on his promise. Roger wanted the comfort now but he would have to settle for a day with Brian tomorrow, even if that meant he would sleep all day from staying up too late.

“Alright, that sounds good. I love you, it’ll be okay.”

Brian smiled warmly despite the stress that must have been crippling him and kissed Roger before sending him back upstairs with a pat on his rear that made him smile, even if it was somewhat forced.

The bedroom seemed to somehow be colder now that he knew he wouldn't have company any time soon. Brian would probably roll over and do whatever it took to get the job done to not get his friends on his bad side any more than they already were. He always had tomorrow, though. Selfishly, he didn't want to be with Brian tomorrow; he wanted him right then; Holding him, telling him it would be okay.

Well, he was going to have to suck it up and wait, even if it hurt a lot that he wasn't going to have company in his time of need on top of the fact that he'd gotten Freddie cross with him. Presumably John too. He just shouldn't have gone downstairs in the first place, Roger thought as he hugged Brian's pillow to his chest.

 _It wouldn't be long_ , he told himself. It wouldn't be.

 

It was six in the morning when Roger found himself being awoken by a weight shifting on the bed that had to be Brian, who was very carefully trying not to wake him unsuccessfully. He wasn't wearing anything but his boxers and dark circles were looping around his eyes. Mostly unclothed, he looked sickly and a sheen of sweat glistened off of his chest when the early morning light bounced off of his flesh.

Roger, who turned on his side to get a better look, reached out his hand that was taken when the other man saw it. "Are you feeling okay?" He was joined in bed a moment later but he pushed the covers away from himself, which was understandable given the heat radiating off of his body that even Roger felt.

"Fever," Brian replied quietly and breathlessly as if it had physically pained him to say. "How're you? Sorry I couldn't come up earlier-"

Roger interrupted Brian's apologies by pressing the back of his hand to his forehead to check how hot he was. It was blazing and his forehead, such as his chest, was beaded with sweat like he'd been in a sauna for hours. The coolness of Roger's hand against his forehead was a relief that he didn't want to go away so he pressed Roger's hand, still touched upon his head, against his forehead further by using his own hand to hold it down gently so he wouldn't move it.

He didn't move his hand, but he did use his other one to cool down his cheek that felt warm as well. Another cooling relief on his heated skin made him smile, but Roger frowned in concern. His dark circles were visible even in the darkness, and a clear glow of pink and red was too clear to be healthy. His breaths were hoarse like they had been the last time he'd come down ill, but he didn't seem to notice or care much at all.

"Maybe we need to take you to the clinic." Roger suggested gently. 

"Mm, no. Just a fever, the coughing hasn't been terrible. Besides," He sat up and rolled on his back where he took Roger's hands again but this time put them on his chest that was somehow warmer than his forehead. "They'll tell me to use the same devices I have been. Same as last time."

"But it may be worth it if they'll give you antibiotics."

"Can't afford it."

It didn't seem fair that Brian had refused to stop paying for the medications for Roger just to deny getting things he needed for himself from the clinic. Bronchitis, if left untreated, could develop into a much more severe case of a chest infection that could be easily cured given the proper help.

Roger didn't want to begin an argument, so he kept to himself and continued to run his hands over Brian's face. He decided a towel soaked with cold water would do him better than his hands so he wet a small washcloth, much to Brian's disagreement about needing it, and laid it across his forehead after pulling his hair back. He settled down into a sedated calmness when he started to cool down but the concerning way that each breath he took seemed to pain him greatly kept Roger on edge.

"Do you need anything? Did you eat?" He asked quietly which got Brian's attention in the form of a raised eyebrow.

"Can we go to bed?" Was all he had to ask. Of course, Roger wasn't going to say no to that; he knew Brian probably didn't feel well and needed rest and he was quite tired himself. Though, just when he was going to agree and settle back in for bed, Brian continued; "How are _you_ feeling? Earlier, you were upset."

Roger shrugged his shoulders. "I'm okay now."

"Promise?" He raised his pinky and Roger hesitated to take it which earned him a worried glance. Roger caught the concern evident in his expression and smiled to ease him back into being content but it seemed too late because Brian then sat up, with much effort. "What's going on?"

Roger tried to push him gently back into laying down but he stayed propped on his elbows. "I'm better now, I was just a bit scared of the fighting. Promise."

"Oh," Brian expressed with heavy guilt. "Situations just a bit tense right now. I promise everything's okay," He didn't seem completely genuine but he buried any doubt that Roger could pick up by burying his face into the shoulder of the blonde when he tugged him into a hug. His entire body was cooled down but he still felt too hot to be normal.

"It's gonna be okay, right?" 

"Of course. It'll be okay."

"But what if it isn't?" Roger begged, and Brian squeezed him tighter. A hand sifted through Roger's hair that had already grown slightly and the hand tightened into a fist but made sure he didn't pull his hair painfully.

With a heavy, but creaking, sigh, Brian pressed his cheek into Rogers'. "Don't think like that, okay? I swear, in a month this will all be over."

Roger hated the way he took what he was saying, he hated the way it sounded nice that it could be over in a month, _everything_ over in a month, but he hated his thoughts most of all. What was wrong with him? How could he even think of doing such a thing _again_ when he had Brian now? Was this selfish to even ponder over or was it justified? It didn't occur to him that he had even gotten that upset about the situation until just then when he recognised he had begun crying, sobbing, into Brian's shoulder.

With a loving hand running over Roger's back, Brian shushed him and gave small words of sympathy but his crying only continued until he could hardly breathe from his suddenly stuffed nose and hooked breathing. He was laid down and Brian pulled him into his chest where he braced his hands against the bare chest in front of him, his own head feeling hot from how intensely he had been reacting.

"Tomorrow we're going to take a break," Brian said. "We'll sit in bed all day eating ice cream if you want. I don't want you hurting, ever, okay? These past months have been so much, God, so much, I think we deserve a rest."

Roger nodded against his chest and wrapped his arms around his neck over the hair that fell over his shoulders. He could feel the wetness of the towel still halfway on Brian's head dripping on their pillows but it didn't bother him, the distraction was good enough to calm him into controlling his breathing while Brian worked his hands up and down his back.

"Does that sound good? Eating ice cream until we bloody puke our guts up?"

Roger couldn't help but smile. He pushed his head back a little and looked up at Brian, who had teary eyes himself, and ran a hand across his cheek just where the bandage over the bridge of his nose ended. "It sounds amazing. I think we deserve ten years of breaks, but it'll have to do."

Brian pulled him back in for a cuddle despite how his body was still burning up and rested his head on top of Rogers'. They soon fell asleep like that, no longer upset or suffering while in each other's arms, but Roger couldn't help but worry about what he had thought of earlier.

He only wished it would be better in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks can be deceiving.


	25. Happiness Is A Lot Of Pressure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Happiness is a lot of pressure. I don't want to measure myself to one emotion." -Do All Suicide Survivors Think The Same? Via Jubilee on Youtube  
> -  
> yooooo sorry this took so long guys its just i had to uuhhhh do shit idk. i had to take a break for christmas then when my boyfriedn came (Which was SO FUN) and now im getting back to writing this and Eyes Full Of Stars. which, yes, is going to update sooner than later. the next uhhh 5? or so chapters are plotted for Drowse so they should come pretty easily :) the next few will be. tense. to say the least. more of my personal shit shoved into this story tbh LMAO but like when do i not add my personal shit? anwyays, love yall uwu

Brian and Roger's sex life was put on hold. It wasn't that they weren't trying or not in the mood, it was more of a physical block from everything going on in their lives.

The first time since Brian had lost his job, he was the one to initiate. It was the night of their 'break' and after having slept all day, just as Roger figured he would, Brian met him in the kitchen where he was making himself lunch. Freddie and John weren't home, so it was the perfect opportunity. Sleepy, tender hands met the front of Roger's pants and when he turned around, Brian was already unzipping his jeans.

Roger wanted to, if not more than Brian, but the only issue was that it took more time to actually get Brian up than it took to have anything happen. Brian was clearly troubled by what had happened, so neither of them spoke about it for the rest of the day. It was a one-off. It happened. Being distracted was his interpretation and Roger made sure to let him know it wasn't anything to be embarrassed over.

The second time since Brian had lost his job, they were at the grocery store when it happened.

Brian had always been a bit of an exhibitionist, especially in his teenage years when he and Roger went to the same school and he'd often pull Roger into locked rooms and bathrooms to get him off; the thrill of being caught doing something forbidden always nice in his head. The occasional bathroom break while eating dinner at Brian's house often resulted in Brian himself coming in with a look in his eyes that meant Roger was going to be leaving the room with a change of pants.

Knowing this, Roger had been the one to suddenly drag Brian into the toilets while he listed items they needed. His idea was to get his mind out of the gutters for a moment and have some time to relax, especially if it meant he would get that familiar thrill of being pleasured in a public area.

At first, Brian had been visibly excited for what Roger was doing, even going as far as to pull his boyfriend's head closer to his body with a fist tangled in his hair when he began sucking him off. Unlike the first time, he was hard as soon as Roger had grabbed for his cock, but also unlike the first time, it took all he could to get Brian to come. He was sure he was close for a moment, but then the brunette was suddenly apologizing and clearly humiliated at what Roger was sure had to be worse than the first time.

His excuse this time was that he just couldn't get over the edge because he had begun to think about something else while at the moment, _something_ was definitely the fact that he would have to leave the bathroom and purchase groceries they couldn't afford which only brought the fact that he didn't have a job back to his mind. 

The third time, and the moment that they both decided perhaps it would be better to abstain, for now, was when Brian couldn't get erect no matter what they did.

Humiliation boiling over from their week-long escapade of just attempting to get Brian to perform correctly in the bedroom and out of the bedroom, Brian finally decided that he was too worked up to do anything sexually. That was fine, Roger didn't care as long as Brian was okay, and he, of course, didn't want to do anything that Brian wasn't comfortable with, but it clearly bothered him. He didn't want to be unable to do anything with Roger sexually due to his worry and stress, it was embarrassing. On top of the humiliation he'd already put on himself, he wondered how much worse it could get; now his body was against him too.

The events and agreement weren't talked about between them. There wasn't much to say anyway, what would they say? Sorry you can't get it up? Sorry you, a twenty-three-year-old, can't get aroused because you're going to lose your house if you don't figure out how to dig yourself out of the fifty-foot deep hole you dug yourself? Nothing was said further than when Brian apologized and stated he wasn't going to be able to do anything about the situation; full of guilt that made Roger's heartache with the thought that Brian was sorry for not being able to have sex with him as if it was all he was good for.

Despite agreeing that Brian should cool down and take breaks instead of working all night with Freddie and John, their friendships under strain with the pressure, the long nights seemed to get longer. The arguments were longer and more brutal. Now Roger was apart of the kitchen table conversations, but that didn't mean anything changed or more work got done, it just meant he was there to be closer to the fighting that caused him so much anxiety.

It was three in the afternoon, only ten minutes until four, and John had clearly had enough.

Freddie was going through the stacks of papers that John had gotten and whilst going through it, he pulled a yellow paper with blue text boxes out and held it out for John to see, who was clearly confused why he was being shown the document. "This says you need two years of experience in a mechanic shop."

John blinked and leaned in to look at the paper. Freddie was accurate, and so he shrugged and took the paper to set it to the side. "Suppose I didn't notice."

"You didn't read it when you got it?" A trace of irritation that the youngest didn't appreciate was in his voice.

"Guess not. What are you so cross about?"

“I just don’t need to waste my time on anything we don’t need and you clearly didn’t bother to check.”

John rolled his eyes and stood from the table with his hands going into his pockets. "I'm gonna take a break. You should too."

Freddie stared at him like he'd gotten punched in the face. "Where are you going?"

"Veronica's I suppose. I don't like when you act like this, I can't deal with it tonight. Go to Jim's and cool down."

"I'm not doing bloody anything, do you see these?" Freddie pulled out two envelopes that weren't marked and waved them for emphasis. "What the hell do you expect us to do about this?"

John shrugged, which only baffled him more. "They'll still be there tomorrow."

Freddie had nothing more to say, instead waving John off like it wasn't his idea to leave to his girlfriend's house in the first place. As soon as he was out of the door without another word, Freddie kicked the chair across from him under the table while Brian and Roger watched uncomfortably.

Roger couldn't help but feel a little selfish as to not notice how much pressure and stress Freddie had been under just as he and Brian were. He didn't spend nearly as much time with Freddie as he did with Brian, and he tried not to pay attention to when they'd fight, but it was quite clear physically now that he was paying attention.

Freddie was paler with dark circles under his eyes and he looked like he hadn't slept correctly in days. He must have been staring because the oldest suddenly looked back at him with annoyance.

"What?" Freddie demanded.

"Sorry," Roger answered softly. "You look tired. Maybe we _should_ take a break."

He didn't respond. He looked frustrated that Roger had tried to give him advice, and instead of replying, he snatched the unmarked envelopes again and pushed them to Brian. In a much calmer voice, he asked; "What do we do about these?"

Brian took the envelopes and let Roger look at them too by tilting them slightly. "Bills?" He asked, and received a nod from the oldest.

"Three hundred pounds together."

The couple stared at the papers. What were they to do? What could they do? They were doing their best, and it still wasn't enough. Not that it ever was, or would be.

"Christ, how am I gonna do this?" Brian asked himself while he ran a hand through his hair. He stared so profoundly he was astonished that he didn't drill a hole into the paper. 

Freddie took the papers back and Roger put his hand under his chin with thoughtfulness. "Well," He said, raising his eyebrows with discontent. "It isn't your fault entirely, love," Freddie spoke with such malice and disappointment that it surprised both Brian and Roger. Roger became uncomfortable as soon as he said it, and he turned his body away to perhaps hide from the fight he knew was going to occur.

"What are you talking about?" Brian ordered to know with a bite in his voice.

"You know what I'm talking about."

Brian shrugged in frustration. Freddie had met the end of his rope. "Go on, say it."

Freddie looked the brunette in the eyes firmly. "We are going to lose our home. You haven't been yourself since  _that_ night, and now that we're going to be homeless, you're fine? You're suddenly calm? I'm bloody _sick_ of it."

Neither of them broke eye contact despite the fact that Roger sat back in his chair with his entire body turning a bright red.  _That_ night. Everyone knew what night he was speaking of, and hearing the bitterness he was so afraid Freddie held for him become his reality made something cold run through his body.

"You don't know what you're talking about." 

"Oh, I don't? No, Brian, I don't live here with you. I don't have to watch you wear yourself to the bone every single day because you refuse to do the right thing."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Brian shut down and stood, taking Roger's arm who was limp in his grasp but stood as well. He didn't know, nor care to know, what Freddie had meant by what he'd said. He knew it would only make him angrier than he already was if he found out.

"Fuck you, Brian," And under his breath, "It isn't your fault he jumped off a goddamn bridge."

Roger made a sound like all of the air was leaving his body and he abruptly shouldered Brian away from him to walk out the front door and hurl it behind him. Brian wanted to go after him, but Freddie looked at the, now closed, door like Roger had offended _him._  

"What are you doing?" Brian demanded to know. "You're just gonna drive all your friends away? You're stressed, we all know that, but this isn't how you take it out. Not on Roger,  _never_ on Roger."

"Ever since he came into our lives-"

"Don't even talk about him, Fred," He threatened with a hand going up. His expression was stern, and he looked inches from snapping completely. "You have no bloody idea what you're talking about. If you'd seen him even for a moment when he was in that hospital, you wouldn't be such a wanker."

"So it's our fault he decided to jump off a bridge? We're the ones who have to care for him like he's a child? You, Brian, refused to put him in the psychiatric ward. Do you remember that? Do you remember when I asked about why he didn't stay? What did you tell me, again, you told me that you could take care of him, you could help him. That worked out, didn't it? What was the excuse you used to tell him why he didn't st-"

"If you don't like it, move out! Move out, Freddie, I don't fucking care." He was finished with the conversation, he was shocked and more than disgusted, but more than anything he was worried about whatever Roger had left to do.

Outside, Roger stood at the end of the driveway far too still to be normal. He'd expected tears, shouting, or perhaps the hair-pulling that he engaged in when he was upset, so instead when he saw his friend standing eerily still at the very end of the driveway with his eyes set ahead of him, it was quite concerning.

"Come on, Rog," Brian announced as he walked ahead cautiously. "I know what he said was harsh-"

"I knew he hated me," Roger said to the surrounding area. "I told you."

"He doesn't hate you, love," He rested his hand on Roger's shoulder and he remained deadly still. "I'm so sorry he said that. I don't know what's wrong with him, he's done this for days."

Roger turned his head and shrugged the hand on his shoulder away. "Yeah, I know." His tone was flat and harsh.

"Rog, come on, it's cold."

He didn't move when Brian went in front of him to get a better look at his face, but he did shift his head to cover the fact that he was more upset than he sounded or wanted Brian to know. 

"Oh," The brunette frowned with realization. Roger tried to cover his face with his hair by shaking his head but it was too short now to do so. 

"Just leave me alone for a minute, okay?" He sounded like he was begging, and it broke Brian's heart. "Just for, uh, a minute." His voice cracked before he could finish his sentence and that seemed to break the dam of the emotions he was feeling as he began crying immediately after.

Brian pulled him into a tight hug and as soon as Roger's face connected to his chest, he began to sob. Brian couldn't find the energy to be angry at Freddie for what he did at the moment, he was too focused on trying to keep his lover upright given the fact that he was sagging into his arms. 

The silence was cut by cars going by, the trees rustling, and the quiet cries muffled by fabric and flesh. The back of the shirt being stained my tears and spit was being wrinkled from Roger twisting his hands back and forth restlessly, unsure what to do with them while very sure he needed to somehow get even closer to the man who he was holding onto for life.

It was cold. If they stood outside longer they would be freezing given the fact that they were both wearing short-sleeved t-shirts and Brian was wearing shorts. He couldn't bring himself to move, however, as he didn't want to upset Roger further somehow by warning him that they'd need to move soon if they didn't want to catch a collective cold.

It turns out he wouldn't need to say anything because Roger moved and dipped his hands into his pockets, fishing out a pack of smokes and a lighter. Shaking hands brought both to his lips and with a shrug of his shoulders, he swiped his palms across his cheeks.

"Sorry," Roger said with a breathless laugh with no humour behind it. "Fuck, it's freezing."

"Do you want me to get a coat?"

His eyes widened at that, near panicked, and he put a hand on Brian's shoulder to keep him where he was. "No, stay with me."

"Of course, yeah," He stepped forward and wrapped a hand around Roger's neck from the back. He received a comforting sigh in return and he even leaned back to get closer to the affectionate touch. "Should we talk about what happened?"

Roger didn't even pause before replying; "No. I don't- he's just in a pissy mood. No big deal."

Brian blinked. "Roger we talked about being honest."

"I'm being honest. It's not a big deal. I've said shitty stuff before when I'm mad too."

"Rog-"

"Brian," Roger half-snapped. "End of discussion."

Brian knew it wasn't something he was gonna shrug off. You don't just shrug off someone telling you something so cruel.

"I'll go back inside when I'm finished. You'll stay with me, right?" He looked up expectantly to the brunette.

"Yeah, of course. You're sure you're okay?" He skirted around the fact that Roger looked ready to burst into tears again.

"Absolutely." Despite being, according to him, absolutely fine, he lit another cigarette directly after his first.

Brian, who knew if he pushed it wouldn't come out well, sighed. What else was he supposed to do? Make him care, or pretend to care? They would probably end up talking about it when they went to bed, and he'd be more than happy to let Roger get it out on his shoulder like many times before.

They were both expecting tension when they entered the home but when they stepped inside, Freddie was gone. Most likely inside of his bedroom, as the car was taken by John but neither of them cared, they were both secretly relieved that he was gone.

"Thank god," Roger thought out loud with his tension leaving his body through a heavy sigh as he slumped onto the sofa. "We can be alone. C'mere." He waved his arms around until Brian sat with him and he wrapped himself around his partner.

He couldn't relax and forget about what Freddie had said like Roger was pretending to do. It was cruel, and he'd left as to not apologize. How could he treat his friend like that?

"Listen, Fred can be a dick. I'm sure he's upstairs feeling really sorry for what he said." 

"I'll talk to him in the morning."

"I hope you know that what happened that night isn't something you should feel bad about. It wasn't right what he said, you know that right?"

Roger was quiet for a moment but nodded extremely hesitantly. "Yeah, I know. I don't really want to talk about this right now." His voice was hoarse like he was going to cry again, and Brian really didn't want that to happen again. 

"Yeah, of course. We can just sit and watch some telly, how's that sound?"

The blonde smiled and pushed his body over to press a kiss on Brian's forehead. "Can we order in?"

"Of course," Brian laughed, holding Roger's hand in his. "Whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?" Roger's eyes widened. "So, even pizza with pineapple?"

The brunette made a neutral face suddenly and Roger laughed, a hand going to his upper arm where he pats it gently. "Maybe just on half?"

"Fine, on half. I don't want that shit touching my side, though."

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

They both stared at one another and after a beat of silence, they both burst into laughter. It seemed genuine on Roger's side, and for that Brian was glad. He would have been terribly upset not long ago if the same thing had happened, but now he was laughing and joking with him. It seemed like he was being genuine. He probably just needed a break from the stress to un-tangle and honestly, Brian did too.

Brian wasn't going to dare bring up the fact that his partner was quite chipper given what had happened earlier. He didn't want to be the guy who killed his good mood, a mood he hadn't had in what seemed like weeks. If Roger wanted to watch telly, eat pizza, and make jokes then he was certainly going to allow it without a dam in their way.

They put a movie on, a horror movie despite Brian's hesitation, and the pizza came not too long after. It was already reaching ten at night but neither of them was paying attention to the clock. The meal was half pepperoni and half pineapple, something that Brian detested because he grumbled that he could still taste it on his half.

Another complaint, much to Roger's bratty amusement, is that he kept stealing the pepperonis off of his side. ' _If I wanted a cheese pizza, I'd order a bloody cheese pizza. Get your grubby pineapple pizza hands off my pepperoni!"_ He ordered, getting another long, genuine laugh out of his boyfriend that lit his world up.

By midnight, the pizza was discarded on the floor and they were wrapped in each other's arms longways on the sofa. Brian had fallen asleep by the ending of the movie but Roger remained awake, using Brian's phone to play games to tire himself out while the ending of the movie played out.

A foreseeable twist bored him, and the movie was soon rolling to credits. It was nearly laughable how obvious the twist was, but he couldn't say much given the fact that he didn't expect it himself.

The television was shut off. Brian was still asleep when he rolled onto his side and got into a more comfortable position, still using his phone but now on the lowest brightness as to not disturb him. He watched as his boyfriend rubbed a palm over his face and whimpered, probably dreaming of something fascinating.

Roger clicked the phone off. He then set it to silent mode and slipped it into his pocket. He had to move silently to get to his feet, and once he was up and sure Brian wasn't awake, he set an alarm on the microwave for five in the morning.

He went back to bed and wrapped both of his arms around his sleeping partner who scooted backwards to cuddle into him closer. 

"Night, Brian."

"Uh-huh. Night."

Roger smiled and slid his hand up the back of Brian's shirt. He received a shiver from the warmth flooding through Brian's body that felt quite good even in his sleepy-state. He squirmed for more, and Roger wasn't going to deny him the comforting feeling.

When his hands reached his shoulders, Brian inhaled deeply through his nose and looked back to see Roger. A sleepy smile spread across his drawn face. "Love you."

Roger hummed and glided his thumb across his jaw. "Love you too."


	26. Dog Skinned Alive, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger and John take a trip to the gas station.  
> [Mild Trigger Warning]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very nervous to be posting these next two chapters cause i’ve been planning the next few for months and i’ve got abooouutt 6 written and more to be written later today but. i’m  
> very nverous   
> because i want y’all to like where i’m taking it because i’ve worked SO hard i’ve worked my ass off this past week especially so.. i hope y’all enjoy!! please give as much feedback as possible !! tomorrow will bring a new chapter so subscribe to this to get an email when it’s published!!

It was still dark outside when Roger woke up. 

It had reached four in the morning. He woke up groggily and he sat up out of his position on the sofa where Brian was loosely wrapped around his middle, giving a quiet whimper when the object of his warmth and comfort sat up without him.

"Where're you goin'?" Brian mumbled, obviously still asleep.

"Going to bed. Upstairs bed. Come on," Roger tucked both of his hands into his boyfriends’ but he was limp, still sleeping despite having his eyes just hardly open. It took a few tugs but Brian eventually woke up enough, with irritation that bordered on being cute, to be coaxed into moving upstairs to his bed for the night.

"-Time is it?" 

"Uh, I think it's almost five."

Brian looked around the empty hallway that lacked any light. "We slept all day?"

"No, Brimi, it's not morning."

Brian seemed content with that and slid back into his tired look. His hair was mussed and the loose-fitting bandage across his nose was dangling by his left eye. He didn't seem to care or notice, but Roger did and therefore made a mental note about taking it off for him so he didn't get it on the sheets when they laid down.

The bedroom that Freddie owned had a light on and a quiet sound emitted from inside of the room. Too quiet, but it seemed to be soft music. At least Freddie was having a decent night.

Roger guided a very sleepy and constantly mumbling Brian to bed. 

As soon as his knees touched the bed, the brunette was flopping into the recently washed sheets with joy that he was going to be able to sleep again. He looked rather distraught when Roger didn't join him in bed as soon as he did.

"Hey," He whispered, a hand reaching out to pat the bed and invite his boyfriend to the bed. "I won't be able to sleep without you."

Roger warmed at the thought. "I'm just going to the toilet, I'll be there in a minute."

The older man grumbled but waved him away. He slumped back into the pillows and Roger was certain he'd be out like a light when he got out. He was correct; when Roger entered the bathroom and stalled for a moment, he was snoring and mumbling in his sleep once again, though this time he was cuddling the pillow on Roger's side as a replacement for the warm body he usually had these days.

He went downstairs after changing into normal clothing and discarding the pyjamas he was wearing. He carefully avoided the creaking stairs and squeaky floorboards as he padded across the kitchen. Turning on the lights, he put the kettle on and prepared a line of ingredients for his tea; milk, sugar, and honey. Maybe he'd add vanilla to this cup, just to have it taste interesting.

The front door clicked open and at first, Roger didn't notice but John closing it behind him made him jump. "Fuck, John. Scared the shit out of me."

John stared at him suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"Making tea."

"At four in the morning? You're dressed as well, where did you go?"

Now John was interrogating him? He didn't need that. He hadn't done anything quite yet. "I was about to head out to get some smokes."

"And Brian knows about this?"

Roger gave him a look that told John he certainly didn't. "Come on, you think he'd let me walk to the petrol station at this hour? I thought you were the cool one." He took the kettle off of the stove and tossed a tea bag into his mug.

John shrugged and tossed his over-night bag onto the sofa. "I know you can take care of yourself, Rog. Just wondering."

Roger seemed to linger in the kitchen. His uneasiness near John didn't phase the youngest as they weren't nearly as close as he was to the other two, but there was an air of unease around them that came from more than just their tension.

"So, you won't tell Brian I left right? It'll only be for a few minutes."

John shrugged. "You can call if you need anything."

Did John not know he had broken his phone? Brian's own phone felt warm in his pocket suddenly. "Yeah, of course."

Roger gathered his things, his head swimming, and just as he was going to open the door, John took his shoulder. "I don't need to be worried, right?"

"Worried? For what?" His voice was thick.

"You'll be back, right? Safe?"

The blonde put a smile on and pat the youngest hand. "Course."

John wavered, a squint appearing on his face. What had Roger done to make him so distrustful? "Then you won't mind if I come with you?"

He looked surprised and he frowned. "What, you don't trust me to walk down the road and back?"

John shook his head and took the car keys from the bowl. "No, not anything like that. It's that it's freezing out and you have a measly coat, you'll catch a cold and die. Plus," He opened the door and walked out, turning back around and waiting for Roger to join him. "You don't have a license."

The blonde was stiff as he walked out. He was silent in the car, but John was fine with that. He had doubts that Roger's plan was to simply go to the gas station and he knew just what crowd roamed near the establishment these hours. With Roger's history of substance abuse, he had the right to be on high alert. Though, perhaps he was being strict like Brian and Freddie. Once inside of the car, he began to doubt that was what the older man was getting up to. He probably just needed cigarettes and a soda.

"Why do you lot always think the worst when I go somewhere?" Roger said just above an abashed murmur. His arms crossed over his chest and when John looked over to answer, his body stiffened.

"We just get worried, that's all. You don't deal with things well." 

"So you have to always assume I'm dead in a ditch somewhere? Typical."

John just nodded bluntly.

"What would you do if I was?"

"Roger," John said firmly, propping himself up in his seat from a slouch to a straightened position. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Sorry. Just curious."

He was currently counting his blessings that he told Roger he would drive him to the gas station. The rest of the short ride was thickened like jelly in silence and Roger opened the door to his side of the car before they'd even parked.

"I'll just be a-" Roger started but he faltered when John got out of the car as well, much to his displeasure. "John, seriously, I can get some fucking smokes by myself."

The youngest didn't seem to care. "I don't doubt that, mate." He entered before Roger and he couldn't help but remark the way he noticed a glare coming toward him.

Roger loitered around the front door to put up the act that he was looking over a rack of electronic devices and accessories. John stood close by, something that obviously annoyed his friend since he repeatedly tried to get away from him by dipping into random aisles aimlessly.

"Hey," John spoke to get Roger's attention who was wandering down the health section of the building. He didn't look his way but he spoke anyway. "Are you sure you're okay? You're being-"

"I'm fine, Deaky. I woke up at two and I couldn't sleep, you know? I'm just tired," He picked up a bottle of aspirin and threw it at his friend who caught it and put it back in its place. "Stop following me around like a sick puppy, get what you came here for."

John could see how that could be the cause of his unease. He was still a little on the fence, but he left Roger alone for the time being and parted their paths in the medicine aisle where the blonde stayed, just observing.

He went to the isles of drinks and scanned his options. When he turned around, Roger was at the front pointing out a red carton of Marlboro's to the cashier; an older man with grey hair and a red shirt with the station's logo on it.

"John, Deaks, hey!" Roger called out and successfully got his attention. "I'm gonna step outside until you're done, mkay?" 

"It's freezing, are you mad?"

"Give me the keys and I'll wait in the car then."

John tossed them across the aisle and the metallic keys thudded loudly across the hard floor. Roger picked them up and gave a thumbs-up before exiting and getting in the car. 

He sped his selecting up as to not have Roger wait in the car by himself for too much longer. He had gotten over his belief that Roger's grand plan was to go out and get some crank at four in the morning without anyone noticing, but he still didn't want him to wait forever when what he probably wanted to do most was just go home and go back to bed.

John didn't care for Marlboro's. He also didn't care for anything he saw in the station food-wise, so he was leaving with only a pack of blue Camel's.

He didn't notice the car missing at first glance, but when he was outside of the station, he soon became unfortunately aware that Roger and his vehicle were missing.

John wasn't one to panic like Brian was. His first thought was perhaps that he had parked somewhere else, but that seemed unlikely given Roger's history with leaving suddenly when he got uncomfortable with the situation he was in.

He called Brian's phone and it went directly to voice mail. He called Freddie's phone and it rang but went to voice mail as well. He tried Roger's phone but it went to a strange beeping sound.

The sun had begun to rise, and all John could think of was how stupid it was to think that Roger may come back.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, roger is not running off again. come back tomorrow for a new chapter <3


	27. Dog Skinned Alive, Part Two; Roger Taylor And The Infinite Park Bench

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger ponders his existence and the end of existence with an infinite park bench.  
> [PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE CONTINUING: Below i’ve put a summary of what happens in this chapter so if you don’t wish to read and you don’t think you can handle it, you can read this version of events below that is much less triggering and so much less graphic than what is in this chapter. If you want to read the chapter, you may do so and ignore this warning. Below is the spoilers. New chapter coming monday. Stay safe.]  
> Following the events of the last chapter, Roger goes to a park and he thinks of how many times he's walked the circle around the park (title). He goes back to the bench he'd been sitting on and throws Brian's phone across the park. Roger takes out a box of razor blades and harms himself in a second suicide attempt. He panics, realizing what he'd done, and gets the cell phone back by crawling across the park to it. He calls 999 and an ambulance takes him to the hospital. The end of the chapter is Roger thinking of how he should have used a better method than this if he didn't want to be an inconvenience.
> 
> Suicide Prevention Hot-Line:  
> 1-800-273-8255

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nErvous to be posting this!!! very personal stuff, and also because ive been working on this plot for a long time now so i hope yall like it!!! [TRIGGER WARNING]  
> [This is the climax of this story arc, things do get better from here. Drowse is lookin up!]  
> [IF YOU HAVENT, READ THE FIRST NOTES BEFORE YOU CONTINUE]
> 
> Suicide Prevention Hot-Line:  
> 1-800-273-8255

The sun was rising beautifully and he had a front-row seat to appreciate it.

The park he was in was completely barren; he was the only breathing creature besides the miniature bugs skulking in the grass and stirring birds running in the trees. From the park bench Roger was sitting on, dew drops coating the seat that wettened his jeans, he could see homes extending beyond a hill that the park was on top of. The homes were still and lifeless as the park was. No lights were on in any of the visible structures and he was sure if he lingered long enough, he would see people waking up and turning on their lights to get ready for their jobs or school.

He must have walked the sidewalks encircling the middle of the park where the rusty park bench was a million times. He had walked once, then sat down. Another time, and stood behind it. The third time, he took a good look at the bench.

A silver plaque was drilled into the seat of the metal bench where the dew-drops accumulated and through the water droplets, he could read an engraving for someone who had made the park. The name was faint, scratched out, and old but he could just hardly make out the name _Catrina Mayer._ What did she do? Did she make the park? Did she help build it? Perhaps the park was made in her name. What happened to Catrina?

Maybe the bridge he'd jumped off of would have been named after him if he'd succeeded. Did you get a plaque if you killed yourself? No, probably not. That would depress people. 

' _This is the Roger Taylor bridge.'_

_'Who's Roger Taylor?'_

_'He jumped from here so he got a plaque in his name.'_

Why would he even want that? He didn't want someone to remember him for how he died, especially not if he killed himself. That seemed dramatic. Who even said he was important enough for a plaque? Catrina must have been quite special to get a plaque. Though, maybe not. If he hadn't walked the park and looked down to where he was sitting, he wouldn't have known she had been there at all.

Roger didn't want to be forgotten like that. He didn't want to be memorialized in a park bench plaque that no one even saw. He would rather be remembered for jumping off of a bridge than be memorialized but forgotten, never to be seen.

He thought of that when he walked the park again. This time he used his left foot to press on every crack he saw instead of his right foot like he had done last time. Maybe one more go around the area, just to waste a little more time. He had all of the time in the world, really. It was all for him. Nothing and no one else existed besides him, the bugs sneaking in the grass, and the birds trilling in the trees. That sounded really nice in his mind when he pushed around a rock when he was coming back around.

The sun had completely risen now and with a determined arm, Roger hurled Brian's phone across the grass. There was no sound when the electronic landed in the wet grass; in fact, no sounds were around him at all anymore. The birds went silent and the bugs froze in their place.

It would have been spooky if he didn't understand. He did understand, though. 

There was a box in his coat pocket next to the packet of Marlboro's and when he slid it out, the deathly silence grew quieter. The park was similar to the bottom of the ocean now. Mariana's trench was the most abysmal and unexplored part of the sea, but he knew what was down there prowling just where no one had gone, deep into the puzzle that was Mariana's trench.

Everything was calm, and it felt good to bask in the thickened silence. It was cold outside and the air bit into his skin when he pulled his jacket off and discarded it on the bench. Chills forced the tiny hairs on his arms to stand straight and when he took the box in his fingers, warmness flooded through him that made his heartbeat race a million miles an hour.

Fire, scorching and sharp came next. Everything came with it; the sounds returning around him, the realization of what he’d done, and most importantly the absolute agonizing pain he thought he would be able to withstand.

From the silence burst a deafening buzzing sound that surrounded him and filled his head. Sitting back, he could see the rusty park bench dripping to the grass staining red.

Roger couldn’t help but choke at the pain. It didn’t hurt so bad when he’d jumped off a bridge, but he was now certain it was the shock that put him into sedation. He wasn’t lucky this time. He felt his wrists spew and flow, something that made him dizzy quite quick.

His left arm seized at his side and his right arm was tightened into a fist. The left arm was pure red; every seize it forced through itself caused another wave of blood to pour out. With his right arm, damaged but not nearly as severely as his left, he wrapped his jacket around the sight.

Gasping and heaving with every small move, Roger’s vision blacked into nothingness when he tightened the cloth around his left arm but it, unfortunately, returned not a moment after. The sound of the buzzing ceased and through an echo of a sound, he could hear Brian’s phone ringing across the park. 

Standing only forced him into a sudden collapse. Horizontal, his face was coated in the blood he’d lost already, and when he dropped his arm in front of himself, the liquid gushed towards him.

The pain began to numb itself. Shock, at last, he thought. _Thank goodness_. He rolled to his back and sat up from there. He leaned against the bench and put his arms on his thighs to see the damage.

Roger had gotten through most of the top layers of skin on his left arm, gliding down to the veins, but his right arm was nearly fine. It was much more of a challenge than he thought it was going to be to use his injured arm to finish the dreaded job, and it was much more unpleasant. 

He used the grass to inch himself towards the cell phone that had ceased its ringing. When he was in arms length, he found his left arm completely paralyzed from the tips of his fingers to his shoulder. There were five missed calls from John but that wasn’t the thing he was thinking of at the moment, he couldn’t think to feel regretful about leaving him at the petrol station.

When the phone was dialling, he placed it back on the blood-soaked grass next to his head when he found even using his less injured arm to be exhausting. 

A voice mumbled something and before it could finish, Roger huffed out; “I’m in the dog park near the Apple Green petrol station,” The voice stopped and once again spoke. He couldn’t hear it over his own breathing that became a wheezing as it went on. “I’m dying.”

He wasn't sure how his voice was so peaceful and regular, but he didn't feel anything but empty emotions when he admitted to himself and the operator over the phone that he was, in the purest form, dying and going to die very soon.

 _And you’re dying alone with triple nine on the phone._ His mind savagely reminded him.

 _This isn’t what I wanted._ But it's what you did, now live with the consequences or complete the job.

He didn’t like the way it felt when he heard voices shouting for him, asking him if he was conscious and if he knew what day it was. He had been over this nearly a year ago, he didn’t want to live this nightmare a second time. This was supposed to be so simple and easy, why couldn’t he do the one thing that he should have done a long time ago?

Roger didn’t remember fainting when he was moved from the grass and to a stretcher, but he does remember telling them he was sorry for the mess he had made on their white sheets. That seemed important at the time. 

It seemed important that he would pay for the damage he did to the umbrella he’d impaled himself with too, so maybe he was just a sympathetic person when it came to inconveniences.

Though, maybe if he was so worried about that, he would have hung himself, or used a gun, instead.

* * *

 

**_Suicide Prevention Hot-Line:_ **

**_1-800-273-8255_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide Prevention Hot-Line:  
> 1-800-273-8255  
> New chapter on Monday. Take care of yourselves. You’re loved.


	28. Dog Skinned Alive, Part Three; Plane vs. Tank vs. Submarine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger wakes up in the hospital. Again. And he’s just as happy as you’d expect from  
> someone who just tried to kill themselves for the second time in a year.  
> [Trigger Warning but not too bad]

The sun was draining in through an open curtain.

The fabric coating the plastic rectangle curtains were the same colour as the walls that were the same colour as the bedsheets. Despite being closed, the sunlight still infiltrated through the blinds and rudely went directly into Roger’s face.

He reached to cover his eyes but found a searing pain instead of relief. His vision wavered into blackness and he quickly gulped in enough air to stabilize himself. Hands working faster than his mind, he gripped the remote on the side of his bed and slammed the key connected to his morphine drip over and over in hopes the entire bag would dump into his bloodstream and numb him completely. 

Instead, he got a nurse with a bright smile coming in to see what he was doing. 

“Good morning,” She said happily. “How are you today?”

Roger held the remote in his hand and glanced over to it when his words failed him with a smothered choking sound.

”Give it a few minutes, okay?” She put her arms to her sides and slid her hands into her pockets on either side of her scrubs. “How are you feeling today?”

Roger looked down at himself. He was clothed in a light blue shirt with sleeves rolled up to his shoulders and from the way he couldn’t move his legs, he must have had an all too familiar pair of cuffs tethering him to the bed.

There was no fear of him using his arms, however, as both the left and right were cloaked in bandages with black, thick string visible underneath. 

Everything felt unclear when he took notice to the fact that his left arm was twitching by itself, and he gasped fitfully when his fingers tightened into a painful fist without his doing. 

He was flooded with emotion when he looked at his right arm and back to his left. Whoever had sewn him up had ruined what work he’d done, it no longer mattered what he did at the park or didn’t do at the park. He had yet another failed attempt under his belt, and he couldn’t help but feel incompetent and silly.

”I feel like shit,” Roger whispered. His voice was like the sound of a shovel on concrete with how ground out it came from his throat. “It hurts.”

”And can you tell me your name?”

That's right, they didn't know who he was. ”Roger Meaddows Taylor.”

”And what day it is?”

”Sunday.”

”And do you know why you’re here, Roger?”

He hesitated. His gaze went back down to his wrists and he felt tears biting his throat. “It didn’t work.”

The nurse looked at him like he was the most heartbreaking thing she’d ever seen. “Maybe I can help you, but don’t tell anyone,” She pointed at the morphine bag and Roger managed a meagre smile when she filtered it to give him more than he may have needed. “You’re very lucky. We almost lost you.”

Roger didn’t feel lucky, but he did appreciate the bed-side manner. She began to leave the room after closing the blinds further but he quickly said; “Wait, can I ask you somethin’?”

She turned around expectantly. “Please, don’t call my emergency contact when you run my name. Not yet. I'm sure he still thinks I'm in bed with him."

The nurse, who looked at him with sorrow, agreed and her hand lingered on the door before she left to allow Roger time to sleep by himself under the anaesthetic of the morphine drip. He waited with eyes closed and body still for the feel-good drug-induced sleep to come over him so he wouldn't have to worry about what would happen later in the day.

Roger must have fallen asleep soon after she'd left because when he was woken up next, an elderly man was standing over his bed with a pen and a clipboard. He blinked up at the man, patiently waiting for something to happen.

"Mr.Taylor, my name is Dr.Wessex," He said to Roger with an air of professionalism. "I'm going to ask you some questions, are you stable enough to answer them?"

Roger nodded but the balding man waved a hand that was adorned with a wedding band. "Yeah, I'm awake."

He took the answer as good enough and sat in an uncomfortable-looking navy blue chair next to his bed. The therapist clicked his pen and crossed his leg to rest his note-pad on. "Your name is Roger Taylor, you are twenty-three years old and eleven months ago you attempted to take your life by leaping off of a bridge. You were injured but obviously you're alive. Is this true?"

Roger nodded.

"Are you being treated for depression at this current time?"

"I take medication."

Doctor Wessex squinted through the thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. "How long have you had these suicidal thoughts?"

"Since the last one." His voice was thick with emotion again as he became aware of what he had done for a second time.

"Can you tell me why you decided to attempt to take your life today?"

Roger huffed a laugh at the phrasing. It sounded like he was being signed up for a credit card. "I don't really know," He did, but he didn't feel ready to admit it. "I suppose I was just at the end of my rope." The lack-lustre humour flew over both of their heads and the elderly man scribbled something down on his page.

"How do you feel about the fact that you're currently in this hospital room?"

"I feel like a fucking idiot, really. I honestly can't believe I did it again."

"You can't believe you've attempted to take your life again?"

Roger scoffed but the action jostled his body and he hissed in pain. "N-No," he ground out. "I can't believe I can't even kill myself."

The aged man seemed interested in his sentence and he briefly glanced at him before writing something else down. "You requested that we wait to call your emergency contact, can you tell me why?"

"I don't want my boyfriend waking up to that. That isn't fair of me. He's been through enough because of me, I don't want him to know yet."

"You believe he'll be angry at you?"

"No, I just don't want him to be disappointed," He couldn't help but whimper when he attempted to breathe in. "I don't wanna see him right now. I didn't think I would see him again, honestly. God, I've put him through so much. He'll probably be angry at me actually, yeah."

Doctor Wessex looked at him with a firm stare that was less sorrowful than the nurse had given him. He must have seen this many times, probably worse than Roger had ever been. Why wasn't he with those people? "Can you tell me the events leading up to the attempt?"

Roger didn't want to do that. He knew it would hurt to go through the details, and he simply couldn't bring himself to speak. Instead, he shook his head with tears threatening to spill over if he spoke. His doctor clicked his pen shut and stood with a nearly bored expression on his face.

"Mr.Taylor-"

"Can you call Br- my emergency contact? Please?" He grit his teeth through a severely painful spasm that ran through his left arm that left his fingers curled and unable to move. It didn't let up when he continued; "Call him now, please."

His therapist merely nodded. He had more to say, but it was clear Roger was shutting down right in front of him from the severe pain and emotional stress. After he left, Roger found his chest heaving and tears spilling down his cheeks. His sudden influx of emotions did nothing positive for his injuries and they seemed to be fire-licked when he dared move an inch. His vision smeared from the pain, and he once again took the remote by his bed and rammed the button for his morphine as many times as he could before his arm burned far too much to dare move.

Roger waited for what felt like an eternity in the empty hospital room. Outside it seemed to be too nice of a day to be real; clear skies and birds chirping on a brilliant green tree just outside his window. He stared out of it until his nurse, the same kind-eyed woman from earlier in the day, returned with a smile.

"We've contacted your partner and he's on his way."

Roger didn't look away from his window. "W-Was he angry?"

The woman frowned. "No, dear, he was concerned."

He acknowledged her words with a hum low in his throat. "Could you cover me?" He looked to the side where he could just hardly see her figure and she gently dragged the fleece blanket over his torso, covering his wrists that he would rather not see at the time being, never less Brian. When she had made sure it was comfortable, she left him alone for the second time in the day.

Roger felt sick waiting for him. He could hardly keep himself from crying from both the pain and anxiety waiting to see if this would be the end of their relationship and friendship as a whole; maybe he'd gotten to be too much of a burden for Brian with this sudden attempt on his life for the second time. He worried every day that his depression would be the final straw and he would become overwhelmed with his emotions, but this seemed like a good breaking point.

He didn't want to have Brian constantly worrying about the next time he would plummet off of a bridge or turn his wrists into minced meat, but this seemed to be his fate given the fact he was untalented even in death.

When he heard a familiar voice, he closed his eyes as tight as they could and wished it would go away for just a moment more. He could take the moment and use it to prepare himself to see Brian again, but when the door clicked open he realized he'd wasted his moment that he'd asked for.

"Hey," Brian whispered. His arms were crossed and he was dressed in the same pyjamas he had been wearing when they went to bed the night before but this time he had his shoes on. His hair was messy and his face showed how tired he was, though perhaps it was less exhaustion and more worry. "How are you feeling?"

Roger didn't open his eyes until he felt a hand gently brushing his cheek and he heard his heart monitor pick up. "Sorry."

"Come on, you don't have anything to be sorry about." He took a seat and placed his elbows on the plastic arms of the bed.

"Yes, I do," Roger whined. "I'm s-sorry."

"Hey," Brian forced a smile to comfort Roger but he ignorantly attempted to take his partner's hand to hold which caused his arm to explode with searing pain. Brian was immediately pulling his hand back, unsure of what he'd done until he was starting to put the pieces together.

Roger clenched his teeth and stiffened his body when the blanket was pulled down to his mid-elbow where the bandages ended. Brian stopped there because he simply couldn't bring himself to see what it looked like further down. Roger was surprised no one had told him the damages, or if they had maybe they didn't give him the full details. "Fuck," Roger whispered painfully when his arm tightened into what had to be an incoming spasm. "It- _Fuck_ , it hurts."

His hand reached back to the remote but Brian put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from continuing to press the button more than he already had. "Hey, they're gonna stop giving you that if you keep pressing it."

"What the fuck do you want me to do? Sit here and-"

Brian sat forward and gathered his hand into the side of Roger's hair with a heavy sigh that seemed to come from the deepest part of his chest. "Rog, don't do that right now. I'll get a nurse in a second, okay?"

Roger's chest slowed it's heaving and he ground his teeth through the pain that subsided only slightly. "Are you mad at me?" He asked slowly and softly after stillness somehow more painful than his wrist.

Brian's expression softened with concern. "No, love, I'm not mad at you. I'm honestly- I'm more confused than anything. I thought you were doing really well, you were so happy last night, I just don't understand," His voice wavered and he blinked away wetness, eventually having to look away to get his next sentence out. "Why? Why again?"

Roger strangely laughed. "I couldn't take it anymore," He sniffled and attempted to bring his right hand to his face but found it too painful and stiff to do. Brian ignored the way that dried blood was risen from the stitches visible under the bandages; though he was somewhat relieved, it wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. At least not on his right arm. "I don't know what's wrong with me, I'm sorry."

The brunette began shushing him when it became clear that his partner was going to put himself into a panic attack if he continued. He put his hand back into the blonde hair in front of him and ran his fingers back and forth over his scalp to calm him down, and it seemed to help a little but he was still breathing roughly with watery gasps.

"Maybe you should sleep for a few hours," Brian said in a whisper. "How's that sound?"

Roger looked over to his partner and whined. His right hand went up and he faintly twitched his fingers. "You'll stay with me, right? You're here?"

Brian reached out and held his hand against Roger's. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

He seemed content with that, but he still felt his heart skip a beat when Brian stood up. He didn't leave, he only switched sides so he could put less strain on his arm so they could hold hands the best they could; Roger's fingers slightly curled over Brian's own.

"Brian?" Roger asked with his gaze lazily going to the bottom of Brian's chin. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for this, ever. I'm not going anywhere."

"I can't move my arm," Panic heavy in his voice, he wept. "It hurts so bad."

Brian pressed his lips together and managed to keep himself together enough to kiss the top of Roger's head with a forced smile that was less than believable. "Just sleep, I'll be here when you wake up."

He didn't make it obvious when he took the remote wired to his bed to click the nurse button, and Roger was already halfway into a fitful sleep when she returned and gave him something to help him rest easier.


End file.
